Letting Go
by ArtemisXYZ
Summary: You can only kick a dog so many times before they bite back. Laurel Lance has been kicked a lot. And she's had it. Enough was enough. It was time to break the so-called rut. She was tired of the tug-and-push game, tired of pining after the man. She needed a clean break...She just didn't count with the determination and stubbornness of our favorite vigilante.
1. Chapter 1

"Laurel..."

She pivoted on her booted heel and glared at him. "You know, when I told you that the island had changed you into being honest for a change, I was wrong."

They were in the foyer of the Queen mansion and she was sure Felicity, Diggle, Thea and God knew who else, were somewhere listening in. She couldn't care less. She was done with being nice, waiting for breadcrumbs from Ollie, waiting for him to finally tell her the truth. Tell her she actually mattered.

"The time you spent on the island only turned you into a manipulative son of a bitch," she spat.

Of course he didn't say anything to that. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking at her with those puppy eyes he's been sometimes sporting ever since he's returned from his five-year episode of Survivor. There was a faint sheen of tears in those eyes, and a mixture of emotions she didn't want to identify.

Boy, he was good.

"You tell me you love me—"

He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

"No, let me rephrase that. You tell me you cannot deny loving me because it wouldn't be the truth." She sighed in frustration. "You only bring up these so called feelings you have for me when it serves some convoluted purpose of yours. Then, when the moment passes, you push me back away."

He pressed his lips together in that endearing way he had—_Focus, Laurel!_—and glanced down at his feet.

"I'm done." She got into his face. "Do you understand, Oliver Queen? I'm done!"

"Laurel, you pushed me away, too, remember?"

He really wanted to go down that road? Fine!

"Yeah, I remember. And I'm still of the same opinion. Sleeping with you was a mistake. Or maybe not so much a mistake than an epiphany. I woke up and you were gone. I've been relegated to yet another of your one-night stands. Thanks for making me see reason."

"It wasn't like that."

"Really? Could've fooled me. Because every man disappears for five months after sleeping with the woman that supposedly means more to him than anyone."

She quickly took a step back as he reached for her. "Don't touch me." Damn, her voice was shaking. She closed her eyes, counted to five reaching for the calm, opened them again. "Don't ever touch me again. God only knows where those hands have been." She cocked her head, looked him straight in the eye, proud at the firmness of her voice, at keeping the shakes at bay. "Besides, you don't need me anymore. Sara's back. One Lance sister or the other never made any difference to you."

"Laurel," he said softly, "I know you hate me—"

"Well, you got that wrong. I don't hate you."

He just looked at her.

"Hate would involve a strong emotion. With you strong emotions are just not worth the effort," she finished softly. She was tired. "Goodbye, Oliver."

She turned away, but before she took a step toward the door, she remembered she had to return something. She fished around in her bag and handed him the flat, black object. "You can have your damn phone back."

Without another word and without a backward glance, Laurel Lance finally walked out of Oliver Queen's life for good.


	2. Chapter 2

At 'Arrow Headquarters', as Felicity had lovingly dubbed their base underneath Verdant, Oliver, Diggle, and Felicity stared at the slim, black phone on the desk. It was the phone the Arrow had left in Laurel's apartment one night. After her vendetta-against-the-vigilante had been brought to a stop by the vigilante in question saving her life. Again.

Although it had never been used, Oliver felt calmer knowing she had a way of contacting him if she needed the Arrow.

Oliver sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. She knew. Laurel knew he was the Arrow.

"Are you sure she knows?" Diggle asked.

Felicity scoffed. "She told him he could have his phone back. Since Arrow gave it to her and she said the phone belonged to Oliver...I think that pretty much means she knows."

"But how?" Diggle stood. "How did she learn the truth?"

Oliver shrugged. "I don't know."

"Did she see you? Recognize your voice?"

"I don't know," Oliver repeated forcefully. "I didn't have time to ask."

"Is it possible?" Felicity asked. "Is it possible she saw you?"

"I always stood in the shadows, and the hood is designed to cover my face." Another sigh. "And I always used the device to distort my voice."

Diggle leaned back against a table. "The real question would be, how does this change things now? For you." When Oliver and Felicity looked at him, he elaborated. "I mean, you lied to protect her. Now it seems she knows, so you don't have to lie to her anymore."

"And she was in danger even when she didn't know," Felicity supplied.

Diggle nodded. "There is that."

"You think she knew when she was on the anti-vigilante campaign?" Felicity asked.

Oliver shook his head. "I don't know."

"There are a lot of things you—we—don't know," Diggle said. "So, until you manage to find out, let's focus on what we know. Laurel knows you're the Arrow."

"She never wants to see you again," Felicity continued.

"And knowing you, you won't let that happen," Diggle finished.

"I sure hope not," Felicity added. "It's Laurel, we're talking about. Gorgeous Laurel. _Your_ Laurel."

Oliver felt his lips twitch. Leave it to her to get to the gist.

"You survived the island because of her," she went on. "You still carry her picture wherever you go, even as the Arrow. Granted, she dated your best friend, but you also haven't been a saint these past year or so. Still, true love comes along once in a lifetime and when it does, you have to follow your heart and go after the person you love with all your might, weapons drawn, gloves off. And I really should breathe right now."

"I'm with Felicity on this one. Only not in such a Hallmark style," Diggle said with a smirk

Oliver smiled slightly. Were his friends playing matchmakers?

"You said yourself you wanted to see if you can have it both ways," Diggle continued. "Save the city and have a normal life. This is your chance. You can still be the Arrow and have the girl. The right girl."

"You can protect her, Oliver," Felicity said. "And she can protect herself."

"You can also teach her some additional moves," Diggle added.

"Are you two done?" Oliver asked, grinning. "Because if you are, I have to go see a girl."

"She said she doesn't want to see you anymore," Felicity reminded him.

Oliver's grin widened. "You really think I'm going to let something like that stop me? What was it that you said? When true love comes around, all bets are off."

"Something like that," she replied, smiling. "So what are you still doing here?"


	3. Chapter 3

Oliver turned the corner into the hall to Laurel's apartment just in time to see Quentin Lance unholster his gun.

"Mr. Lance, what is it?" he asked, after rushing to the man's side.

Lance turned and scowled at him, his expression conveying his annoyance at seeing Oliver there, not saying a word. He simply looked at the door to apartment 305. The slightly ajar door.

Oliver's blood ran cold. Laurel would never leave her door open. She was a cop's daughter. And even without that pedigree she knew what went on in the city. Locking one's door was a priority.

Which meant...

Damnit, why didn't he follow her when she left his house? This wouldn't have happened. He would've protected her. He was already thinking ahead. What his next move would be. Establish who's taken her and why. Track them down. Save Laurel. Permanently maim the assholes, because no one hurt the Arrow's woman—and there was his inner Neanderthal. Apologize to Laurel. Grovel. Beg forgiveness. Beg for another chance. Confess his undying love and devotion. Make love to her all weekend. Spend the rest of his life with her.

"Stay behind me, Queen," Lance growled.

Oliver could've told him he didn't need protecting, that between the two of them he was the dangerous one, even with his bare hands, but in the end the guy was a cop and Oliver Queen was just a spoiled billionaire.

Gun pointed skywards, finger alongside the barrel, Lance gently pushed against the door. After a brief glance, they were in, Oliver on Lance's heels.

The apartment seemed intact, no overturned lamps, no broken furniture. But that didn't mean anything.

A scraping sound from Laurel's bedroom made Oliver put his hand on Lance's shoulder. The muscles were clenched tight, betraying the fear the man felt.

A nod to let him know Lance heard the sound too, a finger on the lips to indicate he should be quiet. What else would he do? Sing the Star Spangled Banner?

"Freeze!" Lance growled as they walked into the bedroom.

A petite, dark-haired woman holding paint samples squeaked.

"Hands in the air!"

Another squeak and the paint samples flopped onto the floor as she lifted her hands high in the air. "D-d-don't shoot me."

"Who are you?" Oliver asked. "What are you doing here?"

She turned her wide-eyed stare from the gun pointed at her head to him. "Y-y-you're Oliver Queen," she said shakily. "C-c-can you tell him not to sh-sh-shoot me?"

Oliver glanced at the paint samples at her feet. "Lance, put the gun down."

"L-l-lance?" the woman asked. "L-l-laurel's dad? The c-c-cop?"

"Yeah, I'm a cop," Lance growled. "And I'm not lowering this gun until you tell me what you're doing in my daughter's apartment."

"R-r-redecorating."

"What?"

"S-s-she hired me to r-r-redecorate her apartment," she elaborated.

"Where is she?" Oliver asked again.

"S-s-she left town."

"What?!"

"S-s-she called me this morning t-t-to tell me I c-c-could start right away, b-b-because she was l-l-leaving town for a while."

Lance smirked. "You expect us to believe that story?"

Oliver felt a spark of warmth at Lance using the word 'us'. "Call her."

"Why don't you call her?"

"She won't answer if she knows it's me." Not now. Not yet. That'll change that soon, though. He'll make sure of it.

Lance quickly glanced at him, a silent question in his eyes, but pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed, the gun never wavering.

Oliver could hear Laurel answering on the third ring.

"Hey, honey, it's me. Where are you?...What are you doing there?" A curse. "Why didn't you tell me you'd be leaving town?" A long silence. "I see. There's a woman in your apartment." He looked at the woman in question. "ID, one hand."

Her entire body shaking, she pointed at the handbag on the chair in the corner.

Oliver fished out her wallet and pulled out her driver's license. Showed it to Lance.

Lance growled and holstered his gun. "When will you be back?" he asked his daughter. "Right. We'll discuss this when you get back." He hung up without another word.

Oliver looked at the woman before them, her hands still up in the air. "You can put your hands down, ma'am."

"B-b-beth." She lowered her hands, swallowed loudly. "M-m-my name is Beth."

"Beth, the interior decorator."

She smiled slightly. "Yes."

"I'm Oliver and this is Laurel's father, Quentin."

She nodded. "Hi. Um, can I go back to work now?"

Oliver looked at Lance, who growled his assent. "Don't leave the door unlocked like that," he admonished.

"Sorry, I was distracted."

"Distractions can get you killed," Lance snapped, turned and walked out.

"Forgive him," Oliver said. "He's a bit gruff."

"That's okay."

He looked around, down at the paint samples. "I'll just leave you to it."

He slipped into the elevator beside Lance when the doors were closing. "Where's Laurel."

"She went to visit her friend Joanna from CNRI."

"For how long?"

Lance turned to him. "I don't know what happened between you and my daughter lately, but I don't like it."

The surprise must have registered on his face, because Lance elaborated, "I don't like anything that makes my daughter suddenly leave town without notice."

"Did she tell you when she's coming back?" Oliver persisted.

"Listen to me Queen, and listen well. I don't like it that my daughter split, but I do like it that she doesn't like _you_ so much anymore." Lance scowled. "Are you poking around Sara again? Because if you are, I'll kill you."

"There's nothing going on between Sara and me." There was only one Lance sister he was interested in. Has always been interested in. "Or between Laurel and me." Not really. Not yet.

Lance chuckled mirthlessly. "Right. You expect me to believe that. You've been dancing around each other since you came back to town. You think I didn't notice the puppy-eyes you keep giving one another when you think no one's watching?" A sigh as the elevator door opened and they exited into the building lobby. "I still don't know what any of my daughters ever saw in you, I just know Laurel's been slowly starting to be herself again ever since you returned."

Oliver knew it cost the man to admit that.

"She said she'd be back in two weeks," Lance growled and walked away.

Oliver grinned. That gave him two weeks to devise his game plan.


	4. Chapter 4

He KOd one of the idiotic thugs and turned to see Sara's also taken care of the other member of the two-thug gang. He's stumbled upon her stopping a mugging and possible rape in progress and decided to help. It had been a good opportunity to get her alone, talk to her without incurring her father's wrath.

"You didn't have to help, Ollie," she said when they were on the roof, watching as the police carted the two assailants away and the would-be victim being loaded into an ambulance. "I had it under control."

"I needed to talk to you. Alone."

She sighed. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Yes, there is," he insisted. "We never got the chance to...clear the air."

She sighed again, but remained silent.

"I'm sorry, Sara. For everything."

She looked at him and shook her head. "Don't be. See, I've had six years to process things, and I've come to the conclusion it was all my fault."

"Sara—"

"No, let me finish. I shouldn't have gotten involved with you in the first place. Jesus, you were Laurel's boyfriend. What kind of woman sleeps with her sister's boyfriend?" She muttered a curse. "You were her world and I was jealous of that. From the first day you two got together, it seemed like no one else existed for her, no one else mattered. Just you. It had always been Oliver and Laurel. And I hated it. I hated her, so I decided to steal you."

"My God, Sara."

She smiled. "See, it wasn't your fault. I wanted you to seduce me. I planned for you to seduce me. I knew what you felt for her, how much you loved her, and I used your own fears of those feelings against you. I'm the bad guy in this story."

"Why, Sara? Why tell me this?"

"Because before she can forgive you, you have to forgive yourself. Not for killing me, since I'm alive, but for cheating on her with me."

Oliver brushed his hand over the stubble on his chin. "It's not as easy as it seems."

"Yes it is. You were weak. You were scared of where the two of you led. And I used that weakness, that fear. I'm the one who should ask for forgiveness." She was silent for a while. "And I will, as soon as she gets back."

"You two haven't spoken yet?" he asked surprised. The two women had been very close before, but he guessed stealing your sister's boyfriend and then dying might have a negative impact on a sisterly relationship.

"No, I was gathering my courage when she left." She touched the tip of her gloved finger to his bow. "But I can't afford to be a coward anymore. And when I do talk to her, you're next. Do whatever you need to do to get her back, because she deserved to be happy. You both do. And the only time I've seen you both happy was when you were together."

He stopped her with a hand on her elbow when she was about to vault from the roof. "Thank you, Sara," he said softly, meaning it. She, their weird relationship before the disaster and especially her death, was one of the catalysts that had made him who he was today. One of the catalysts that had shaped him, that had made him realize what was important in life. Who was important.

She nodded. "You're welcome. A word of advice. Tell her the truth." She pointed to his bow. "About this."

"She already knows."

"You told her?"

He shook his head. "I guess she figured it out."

"No wonder she's pissed." She sighed. "Just be yourself."

He frowned. "What do you mean."

"To get her back. Be yourself. Your stubborn and determined self. Woo her, seduce her, use everything you know about her, because you know her better than anyone. Show her that you've changed. Show her you trust her and that she can trust you. Don't let her get away, don't give her time to breathe."

"I wasn't planning to," he said, but she was already gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Laurel loved her apartment's new look. Beth had truly been a godsend. And the fact she didn't cost a penny was just the cherry on the cake. Laurel had helped Beth's brother and father obtain the severance pay after the company they'd worked for had gone bankrupt and the powers that be had refused to fulfill their obligations toward their former employees. It had been pro bono work through CNRI, but Beth had made Laurel promise to let her know when she or any of her friends would need an interior decorator.

When they'd said goodbye earlier in the day Beth had claimed they were even, but walking through her apartment, admiring the color scheme that flowed seamlessly from room to room and salivating over her new furniture, that had come incredibly cheap thanks to Beth's cousin who owned a boutique furniture store, Laurel knew she should be the one to owe Beth a favor now. Because the final bill, for the paint, the contractors, and the furniture—even though Laurel had given permission for her old furniture to be sold to compensate—was ridiculously low.

She was sitting on her new, iron-framed, king-sized bed, running her hand lovingly on the emerald green coverlet—it felt cool and smooth under her palm—when her doorbell rang.

She closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten—mentally preparing for the confrontation with her father—and went to answer her door.

Only it wasn't her father on her doorstep. It was her sister.

She should've counted to a hundred. "Sara."

"Laurel." Sara smiled sheepishly. "Can I come in."

"Sure." She stepped back, letting Sara through the door. "What brings you here?"

Sara didn't reply. She was too busy gawking at her surroundings.

"Sara?"

"Oh, sorry." Sara turned to look at her. "Dad told me you were redecorating, he just didn't tell me—"

"He hasn't seen it like this."

"Oh." Sara gnawed at her lower lip. "I like it. And I like you hair."

Laurel lifted her hand to her neck, where long honey-colored tresses had still hung loose a week ago. "Thank you. Like with the apartment, I needed a change."

"And you went green with the apartment and back to blonde with the hair."

Laurel sighed. Maybe the green color scheme hadn't been such a good idea, but she's learned to really love the green color. In all its nuances. "You're not here to discuss my décor or my hair, Sara."

"No, I'm not."

Laurel walked into her kitchen. Yes, it was green as well. "You want some tea?"

Sara followed her. "I'd love a cup, thank you."

.

They were sitting at her kitchen table, hands clasped around their respective cups, when Laurel finally broke the silence. They needed to get through this conversation. Sooner rather than later. "So, why are you here, Sara?"

"I'm here to ask you to forgive me."

And there it was. "For what?"

"For sleeping with Oliver."

Yes, this was it. "Mom told me that she'd seen you the day the Queen's Gambit sailed for China. That you were packing."

Sara just nodded, staring down into her cup.

"She said you told her you were in love, that you needed to follow your heart." Laurel swallowed. This wasn't easy to say without bursting into tears, yelling at her younger sister for helping Oliver break her heart. "And you did. You went on a boat trip with the man you loved. There's nothing to forgive."

Sara finally looked at her and Laurel swallowed hard at the tears and anguish she saw in her sister's eyes. "There is. Because I didn't love him."

"What?" The word was barely a whisper.

"I slept with him, because he was your boyfriend. I wanted to hurt you."

Laurel clenched her fingers into a fist. "Why?"

"Because I was jealous."

"Of what?"

"Of what you had with him. You loved him and he loved you. He was a bastard back then, yes. Cheating on you, lying to you. But he loved you. He always loved you. You could see it when he looked at you, smiled at you, held your hand. I was jealous of that. So I decided that if I couldn't have something like that, neither should you."

Laurel couldn't believe her eyes. Her sister had slept with Oliver, had broken her heart, prevented Laurel from truly grieving for her because of the anger at their betrayal...Because she had been jealous.

"You bitch," she spat. "You spoiled little bitch."

Sara was crying now. "Yes, I was. I know I was. And I'm so sorry, Laurel. I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am. And yet, I'm asking, no, I'm begging you to forgive me. I was selfish, and angry, and jealous. And I'm so sorry."

Laurel sneered. "And that's supposed to make me feel better? You broke my heart. You and Oliver broke my heart!"

"I already asked him to forgive me as well." Sara leaned across the table and placed her palm on her hand, but Laurel shook her off. "He's a different man now, Laurel."

"No, he's not."

Sara nodded. "No, you're right. He's the man you always saw underneath that bad boy exterior. I don't know what happened to him on that island, but it scraped off his mask, turned him into a man. A man you deserve. And who deserves you."

Laurel shook her head. She was still processing her sister's earlier confession.

"In a way, this separation, his disappearance, my death, everything that happened during the five years he was gone, what happened in the last year...It was all part of the journey. You both needed this to open your eyes to what you really want, how you really feel."

Laurel felt her heart in her throat. Who was this woman in front of her? So different from the spoiled, carefree girl she'd known before.

"If the ship hadn't gone down, he'd still be the Ollie from before, and you'd be the Laurel from before. He'd continue cheating on you and you'd continue 'understanding'." Sara made air-quotes saying the last word. "And you'd both be miserable. Now you're both different, changed, more mature, stronger."

Laurel couldn't speak. She just stared at her younger sister. A younger sister that seemed much older than her 26 years.

"Now you'd kick his ass to the curb if he even thought about cheating and he knows it. And he'd never cheat now and you know it."

"While I could buy this theory of yours, where does _you_ sleeping with my boyfriend fit in?"

"It doesn't. I was a bitch."

Yes, Laurel thought. There was that. But Sara had also been the catalyst she needed to see what Oliver had truly been like five years ago. And how much he'd really changed in comparison. Not that it mattered how much he'd changed. Or how much she still loved him. He didn't trust her. And without trust there couldn't be anything else.

"When did you become an expert in psychology?" she asked, striving for some levity.

Sara's eyes turned bleak. "I had a lot of time to think."

"How did you survive, Sara? Where were you?"

A mirthless chuckle. "I swam to an island and a ship picked me up. And I wished I'd have died every day since."

Laurel grasped her sister's hand. "What happened? What have they done to you?"

Sara shook her head. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"Sara—"

"No, I won't tell a soul. I can't."

"Oh, Sara."

"And that's not why I'm here."

"Right," Laurel smiled softly. "Forgiveness."

"Not just that. I have to show you something." She pulled a small latex mask from her pocket and placed it in the middle of the table.

Laurel sat back with a groan. "You're the other vigilante."

"Yes."

Sara didn't elaborate on the one occasion they had met, before everybody had discovered Sara Lance was back. The occasion in which Sara, as the blonde vigilante, had helped the Arrow escape from the D.A.'s office despite being surrounded by a SWAT team. And Laurel was glad to follow her example.

"You must be pretty good to pull the whole vigilante persona off," she said instead. "You've kept up with your training?"

"You have no idea," Sara replied. "But so did you, right?"

It wasn't exactly a question. "What has dad told you?"

"Not much. Just that you still train four times a week." At Laurel's nod, she asked, "What do you do?"

Laurel shrugged. "Close-quarter hand-to-hand, taekwondo, kickboxing."

Sara just looked at her expectantly as if knowing that wasn't all.

"Krav Maga," Laurel said finally.

"Dad never mentioned Krav Maga."

"Because he doesn't know." Laurel sighed. "No one does. I started six years ago." She felt a sheepish smile curl her lips. "I had a lot of anger back then and yoga wasn't helping that much."

"Who taught you?"

"A former IDF officer. We still spar together, though he says I've become better than him in the first year he trained me." She smiled. She loved Adam Bachman dearly, but the man was such a liar.

Sara nodded, her expression solemn. "I knew you were the right person to come to."

Laurel glanced down at the black mask. "What's going on, Sara?"

"I want you to wear this mask."

"What?!"

"You can do it, Laurel. I know you can."

Laurel was shaking her head. Where did that one come from? What the hell was wrong with her sister?

"You already have the right training, we would just need to work on the gymnastics part. Maybe some free running. With your degree of fitness that shouldn't be a problem."

"Are you insane?" Laurel exploded. "What is wrong with you? I can't be a vigilante! I'm a lawyer, dammit! I work for the D.A.'s office. Besides vigilantism isn't an answer. Remember what dad always said? We don't need to go outside the law to find justice."

"You know that's not always true. You've seen too much, Laurel. You know too much to still believe that crap."

Sara was right. There had been times, many times, in the last year or so, that Laurel had seen for herself that sometimes working inside the law didn't guarantee justice. She herself has worked alongside a vigilante, the Arrow. Has seen that sometimes to guarantee justice, one had to go outside the law. Even her father had realized that, becoming less particular from what side of the law justice was dispersed and who dispersed it.

Still...

"Okay, I'll give you that one," she acquiesced. "But why should I wear the mask. _You_'re wearing it."

"I won't be for much longer."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm dying, Laurel."


	6. Chapter 6

The Verdant wasn't packet as usual tonight. This was a private party. A welcome-home party for Sara Lance with only family and close friends in attendance. Not that after five years there were many true friends left, they'd all mostly moved on, but that didn't stop the so-called friends, the gawkers, the vultures from attending. And those vultures were eyeing him with speculation and glee.

Oliver couldn't care less. He was glad for Sara to be back in town, back among the living, glad for her father and her mother who's recently come back to town to be reunited with her daughter. And he was glad for Laurel to have her sister back. Although he had no idea whether the two have talked everything through. He only knew Laurel would be attending the party.

He couldn't wait to see her. They needed to talk. He's given her some space in the past three days since she's returned to the city, but now the wait was over. He grinned. She probably thought these past three days were an indication that he'd leave her alone. That they were truly finished. Truly done. She should know better. She was his, he was hers. Some things in life were inevitable. He and Laurel were one of those.

He'd get her to talk to him tonight if he had to handcuff them together. He needed to know how she's discovered his identity, if she'd known it before she'd tried to trap him in her office, surrounded by those damn SWATs. Because if she had known before, he needed, scratch that, deserved a damn explanation.

Well, he deserved an explanation either way. And he'd get it. Tonight. He'd take her down to the basement, show her their base of operations...And demand that explanation.

The hum in the club suddenly dimmed and the hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. She was here. Let the games begin. He fought a smile. Because things were about to get very interesting with every single eye in the club trained on the three of them, the girl, the guy, and the other girl.

He turned and almost gaped. She'd cut her hair. Gone were the warm, brown waves falling below her shoulder. Her hair was now blond and cut very, very short. A pixie crop or so Thea had said after admiring a similar style in a magazine only last week. She looked completely different, edgier, sexier with her neck now bare to his eyes. His touch, if she let him close enough.

Even her attire matched the new hair-style. Tight black jeans tucked into flat ankle boots. But what drew his gaze was the tight, long-sleeved turtleneck she wore. A dark green turtleneck. Almost identical in color to the hood he wore as Arrow.

He was suddenly painfully hard.

He smiled as she started walking toward him, yet the greeting died on his lips as she passed him without even a glance. He turned in time to see her joining her parents and her sister. Sara smirked at him as if to say 'You'll have to do better than that'.

The noise level finally went up again inside the club. Whispers turned into murmurs, murmurs into the droning hum that had died as soon as Laurel has showed up.

He watched as Sara cocked her head slightly and the Lance sisters moved to the bar. He followed, not caring that many pairs of eyes followed him, one pair especially murderous, belonging to the girls' father, Quentin Lance. He followed not caring about the whispers and rumors following in his wake.

He joined the two women at the bar, without them detecting or acknowledging his presence in time to hear Sara ask, "Have you thought about it?"

"Thought about what?" he asked, intrigued by the plea in Sara's gaze and the stiff set of Laurel's shoulder. There was something going on between the sisters, something more than him cheating on one with the other. Not that he would again. Ever.

While Sara jumped slightly, betraying the fact she didn't see or hear him approach, Laurel's shoulders didn't relax. She'd known he was there, closing in. Interesting.

"Nothing," Sara said brightly. "Just sisterly banter."

Yeah, right.

"Did you want something?" she asked.

He grinned. Winked for good measure and she grinned back. "Just a dance."

"Go ahead," Sara said and turned to Thea to order her drink.

He noticed Laurel trying to slink away, but he stopped her with a firm grip on her wrist. "With you," he elaborated.

She bristled. "I'll pass."

"Not this time." He slid his fingers off her wrist and intertwined them with hers. "Dance with me." He didn't give her time to object, but pulled her away from the bar, into the middle of the club floor.

The music suddenly changed, the beat of the guitar intro of the new song slower, moodier. Sexier. Oliver grinned, and glanced toward his sister, sending her a silent thank you. Still holding Laurel's hand, he put his other hand onto the small of her back and pulled her closer. She resisted for a heartbeat and he held his breath. Then she stilled, settled against him slightly, and let him lead her.

When Oliver heard the lyrics, listened to it, he would've gladly signed over his entire trust fund to his baby sister. Because she chose the perfect song for his dance with Laurel.

_Kiss me like you wanna be loved_

_Wanna be loved_

_Wanna be loved_

_This feels like I've fallen in love_

_Fallen in love_

_Fallen in love_

He didn't know the title of the song, didn't know who sung it, but it was absolutely perfect. For the two of them, for this moment...

_Settle down with me_

_And I'll be your safety_

_You'll be my lady_

_I was made to keep your body warm_

_But I'm cold as, the wind blows_

_So hold me in your arms_

He could not have chosen better words to convey what he wanted from her, from the two of them together.

_My heart's against your chest_

_Your lips pressed to my neck_

_I've fallen for your eyes_

_But they don't know me yet_

_And the feeling I forget_

_I'm in love now *  
_

Not now, he's always been in love with her. No matter what, no matter who, no matter when, no matter the obstacles in their way, his own fears...He loved her. He would always love her.

"We need to talk," he whispered into her ear, felt her stiffen. "I need to show you something."

She huffed. "I believe I've already seen everything you have to show."

He chuckled. He couldn't help it. She was adorable when she was pissed off. "You haven't seen this."

The song ended and she took a step back, tugged her hand out of his fingers. He already missed the feel of her skin. She looked at him, studied his face, and nodded solemnly.

He returned the nod, stepped aside and, a hand on her back, led her to the hall blocked by a velvet rope at the right of the bar.

* * *

_* Ed Sheeran: Kiss Me (+, 2011)_


	7. Chapter 7

She watched as Oliver typed a code onto the numeral lock. This was it. He was finally coming clean, showing her where the Arrow 'lived'. She would've been elated had this happened a few months ago, but now...Too late for that. Too late for anything and everything. And he was only coming clean, revealing everything, because she already knew the truth. She already knew Oliver Queen was the Arrow.

God, that really pissed her off. The fact he didn't trust her enough—at all—to tell her the truth from the start. Or in the middle. Or in the end. It took her cornering him, metaphorically speaking, for him to _do_ something.

And now the man probably expected her to be happy, to go all ga-ga because he deigned to invite her into the Arrow's sanctum. The Arrow's inner circle, she noticed, since Felicity and John Diggle waited for them at the bottom of the stairs.

But Felicity and Diggle, even Oliver, receded into the backdrop though, at her first sight of the Arrow's home base. The basement was illuminated by strategically placed white reflectors, a few of them arranged into a rectangle hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the basement. Three computer screens were arranged on a metal desk at the end of the basement, more metal desks providing ample space for various tools and equipment. Metal storage containers and glass display cases were set on either side of the large space, displaying a breathtaking amount of arrows, daggers, flechettes, crossbows...And the requisite bow, of course.

Her feet carried her to the narrowest display case. The one containing the Arrow's uniform. The green-hooded jacket. She curbed the urge to touch the glass.

Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides, she turned to her silent audience, and smiled. She knew it didn't reach her eyes. She didn't want it to. "Nice digs. Great setup. And I just love the costume in the display. So very comic-book-superhero."

Felicity blushed and Laurel knew it had been the girl to set up the entire basement. The girl who was crushing on her employer. Because the whole arrangement, the computers, the display cases, the hood front and center screamed of a crush. The sideway glances, the soft smiles, the even softer gaze screamed of a big crush.

Poor girl, Laurel grimaced inwardly. She had no idea what she's gotten herself into. She might be smart—a genius even, if rumors were to be believed— she might have spunk, a strong backbone, and nerves of steel, but she was no match for Oliver Queen. The man ate girls like that for breakfast. She should know. She'd been one of them.

She leaned back against a metal worktable, hands flat on the table surface behind her, crossed her ankles, and cocked her head. "Ask whatever you need to ask so I can get back to the party before my father comes barging through that door with a battering ram."

"How long have you known?" Oliver asked finally.

Thankfully there would be no beating around the bush. She didn't have the patience for small-talk and bullshit.

"I knew it was you from the moment you first stood in my living room."

The unspoken question in his slightly widened eyes prompted her to elaborate. "Come on, you really think that hood is a good disguise? For someone who doesn't know you, maybe. But it covers only the upper part of your face, and you, buddy, have a very distinct chin." And mouth. A mouth she'd kissed for years, dreamed of kissing for five, six more. A mouth she would know in the blackest night by touch only. "And the stubble is a dead giveaway."

Oliver was silent, staring at her intently, while Felicity giggled and clapped. "I like you." She looked at Oliver. "I like her. There is still hope. You're not a total knucklehead after all."

"Hang on a minute," Diggle interrupted, looking at his two _compadres_. "You're all forgetting something. She hunted the vigilante. Remember the trap she set?" He glared at her. "What was that all about?"

Laurel sighed and looked straight at him. "When I started working for the DA, I was assigned the vigilante case as a side project. Donner knew I had worked with the vigilante before and decided I was the perfect person for the job of catching the guy." She shrugged. "It was either work on the case and make sure no one discovered who the vigilante really was or let someone else work on it and risk exposing his secret."

"Okay, it sounds plausible," Diggle admitted. "But what about the SWAT team?"

"I told him not to come back to the office, but the _idiot_ just wouldn't listen."

Felicity spoke again, "I like her."

Laurel gritted her teeth, anger swelling inside at the thought of that night. "Donner decided to speed thing up. Gave me a remote saying it would call in a response unit. He simply neglected to tell me the unit was SWAT and they were already in the building."

"Shit," Diggle muttered.

"Oh, my," Felicity added.

Oliver was still silent.

Laurel smiled slightly. "Good thing my sister came along or I would've had to improvise. And letting the vigilante escape wouldn't have looked good on my resume."

"Sister?" Oliver asked.

"Yes," she replied. "The blonde vigilante that got you out of there. Sara Lance, you know, the girl you fucked behind my back a long time ago?"

There was a slight wince. "She told you it was her?"

"Yes, Oliver. She told me the truth. It's called honesty. You might want to look it up."

She pushed away from the desk and made her way to the stairs. Once again, his hand around her wrist stopped her.

"If you knew, why didn't you say anything?"

"I was waiting for you to tell me. To tell me the truth. To trust me. To be honest for a change." She shook his hand off. "Unfortunately it didn't happen. You always know how to disappoint."

She walked calmly up the stairs, punched in the code he'd used, and rejoined the party, leaving her heart behind. Again.


	8. Chapter 8

Felicity Smoak has never been very self-assured. It had to do with her low self-esteem and her pretty pathetic self-image that were bi-products of her almost genius IQ and her verbal diarrhea that hadn't made her very popular in school. It made her completely unpopular in fact, with no friends to speak of, with everybody shunning her like she had the ebola, with the hot guys only making friendly with her in secret and until she helped them get the grades that kept them in the team...

Well, that had all changed when Walter Steele had come to her for help while he'd still been running Queen Consolidated. And it had changed some more when Oliver Queen had trusted her with his secret and she'd been made an integral part of Team Arrow as she lovingly called their little threesome.

Not that she, Oliver and John were a threesome or had ever indulged in one...Or ever will...Oh, her 'diarrhea' wasn't limited only to the verbal plane, sometimes she went mental as well. The diarrhea, not Felicity herself.

Although she was starting to turn herself a little crazy right now, laying in wait for Laurel Lance outside the DA's office, thinking too much—as usual—hoping against hope the woman would forgo her lunch for the day, so she could go back to Oliver and report her failure. Unfortunately the guy would only send her on the same mission the next day. And the next. And she'd do it.

Because that was what she did. She was a fixer. And she was a sucker for romance. And Oliver had romance written all over his gorgeous face—and gorgeous body —every time he only thought of Laurel. And he thought of her a lot. Lately, ever since he's found out she knew his secret, even more than usual.

Felicity knew that was normal. Oliver thinking of Laurel, that is. Laurel Lance had been the one thing Oliver had wanted more than death on that hellish spit of land in the North China Sea. It had been her picture that had provided comfort and solace in the lonely days and nights. It had been—probably, Felicity wasn't sure, since the man never talked about it—the thought of Laurel that had carried him through torture, pain and whatever else he's suffered on the island and wherever else he'd been in the five years he'd been 'dead'.

So it was perfectly normal, perfectly natural, that he wanted another chance with the woman he loved. Probably loved more than anything else. He'd blown it, of course, by not trusting said woman, by not telling said woman the truth, but he had been trying to protect her, protect everybody he held dear from the truth and from possible repercussions. Not that he'd succeeded, because in the time he's been back Laurel Lance had been attacked in her own home, almost killed in a prison riot, held at gunpoint—by her own father, though the man was trying to trap the vigilante—,almost killed by a crumbling building, kidnapped and almost turned into a full-sized doll by a lunatic...

A piss-poor job indeed.

Yet the woman wasn't pissed off at Oliver because of that. She was pissed off because he didn't tell her the truth, because he didn't trust her...And Felicity could understand her, could sympathize, could understand. She'd probably be pissed off as well.

And since Laurel was pissed off, she'd decided she didn't want anything to do with Oliver anymore. She ignored his calls, ignored him if they happened to meet—which was quite often lately—, she was keeping her windows tightly closed and her curtains drawn so the Arrow couldn't sneak inside her apartment...And Felicity knew it drove him nuts.

But he was stubborn and he was determined and that was the reason Felicity was standing outside the DA's office, waiting for Laurel to show up. So she could talk to her, try to change her mind. At least a little. Try to determine what the woman was truly feeling, thinking, so she could report back to Oliver and he'd be able to refine his plan. So he'd finally get off her back, finally stop moping—not that he did that in her presence, she just knew he was moping when he was alone—and get the girl.

Because he deserved it. And she deserved it as well. Laurel, that is. Felicity thought Laurel and Oliver both deserved a second chance and this one was perfect. There were no more lies between them—at least she hoped there weren't, but one never knew with Oliver—they just needed to...God, Felicity had no idea what the two had to do—talk? kiss? fight? make babies?—she just knew they needed to do something to get over this hurdle.

Right now she only knew she had to find a way to get Laurel Lance alone and try to talk to her. She had no idea what she'd say. She'd wing it. A situation at last, where her verbal diarrhea might come in handy.

.

.

The moment she stepped outside, Laurel knew she should've skipped lunch. Or maybe ordered takeout. She wasn't in the mood to deal with Oliver Queen—thinking about him was a different matter, because she simply couldn't stop thinking about him, the man was persistent even when he wasn't around—or his emissaries. And she had known he'd send Felicity Smoak to talk to her. Call it female intuition, call it intimate knowledge of Oliver Queen...Whatever.

She'd known Felicity was bound to show up somewhere one of these days. The man was relentless when he wanted to be. He'd been like that when he mounted the first offensive of her heart all those years ago and the time spent on the island hadn't mellowed him down. It only made him sharper, more stubborn, and more determined.

Good for her those five years had honed her moves as well. Because as much as he was determined to get back into her good graces, get back under her skin—if he only knew he'd always been there—, get back into her heart—he'd never left there either, not that she'd tell him that—seduce her again as only he knew how, she was as equally determined not to let him. Not this time.

"Hello, Felicity," she greeted with an insincere smile as the girl approached her. "My internet router is working just fine."

"Hello, Laurel," Felicity replied, smiling as she remembered the excuse she and Oliver had given Laurel when the two had first met. "Going to lunch?"

Laurel sighed seeing the part-dogged, part-sheepish expression on Felicity's face. Oliver had chosen well. This one would keep him on his toes. "As a matter of fact, I am."

"Can I join you?"

"Can I stop you?"

Felicity shook her head. "Nope. I'm a woman on a mission."

Laurel nodded. "Look, I get it. The man is a pain when he wants something. He's also as fickle as they come. He'll soon set his sights on something else. You just have to wait him out."

Felicity set her chin. "I thought you knew him."

Laurel nodded. "I do."

"Then you're deluding yourself by thinking he'll let this go. Let _you_ go."

Laurel shrugged. "A girl can hope." She looked at Felicity as they took the shortcut to Big Belly Burger. "You should know all about that."

Felicity blushed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Laurel lightly bumped Felicity shoulder with hers. "Right. It'll be our secret."

"I really don't know what you're talking about," Felicity insisted. "What hope? I mean...You don't think I...feel something for...You know."

The girl had pretty much admitted to her crush on Oliver, but Laurel didn't have the heart to call her on it. Or the inclination. Because something was wrong. She could feel it. Something was off. "Felicity," she warned, knowing the girl had no self-defense training. "Get against the wall, call 911."

"What? Why?"

"You really should learn to listen to others, Felicity," a female voice sneered from behind them, following a slight thump of someone landing softly on their feet after a drop from higher ground.

Laurel pivoted on her heel to see a tall man curl a muscled arm around Felicity's throat and press a gun to her temple, while a dark-haired woman looked on.

Helena Bertinelli turned to look at Laurel with a smug expression, a twisted curl to her lips. "If you want her to live, you'll come with me without a fuss."

Inside her head, Laurel let out a string of curses that would've made a sailor proud, but nodded calmly. She wouldn't do anything to compromise Felicity's safety. She wanted to do something, though. God, how she wanted to.

Helena cocked her head. "What a polite girl you are, Laurel." Her eyes ran down Laurel's form. "Just so perfect. In every way. No wonder Oliver is in love with you."

Laurel knew that no matter what Helena Bertinelli wanted, she'd use Oliver's feelings for Felicity and her to get it. And Laurel decided she'd fail.


	9. Chapter 9

Felicity was scared spit-less. Literally spit-less. She had absolutely no spit to fuel her verbal diarrhea. Which was probably a good thing. Because Helena Bertinelli was seriously unhinged and God only knew what she'd do if Felicity's verbal diarrhea kicked in. Or what her seriously ripped, and seriously nutso boy-toy might do.

Unfortunately, thanks to the huge spit deficit, she also couldn't ask Laurel whether she was scared, spit-less or otherwise, as well. Though the woman didn't look scared. She didn't look anything, actually. Just the cool, collected Dinah Laurel Lance façade she presented to the media every time they caught her on tape outside the courthouse. Your garden-variety Stepford wife.

She just sat there, hands tied behind her, back straight, head held high, face impassive, eyes blank. It was eerie really. If she wasn't breathing she'd looked just like the life-sized doll that crazy Dollmaker had wanted to turn her into.

Felicity has never felt more alone than in this instant. Laurel had gone all cold and remote, leaving her alone in her scared-spit-less state. What about girl-power, sisterhood and all that? She could appreciate calm under fire, she _did_ appreciate it when Oliver did it, she just didn't appreciate it from her fellow captive. Not when it was Helena Bertinelli, _the_ Helena Bertinelli that had been rather crazy the last time they've met, holding them captive. Who knew how much closer to Bonkersville the woman had come in the time she'd been away.

Felicity had a pretty good idea how much closer she'd come, though. A lot, if the phone call Helena had made earlier was any indication. She could probably run for Bonkersville's mayor. She'd called Oliver demanding the new whereabouts of her father in exchange for Laurel and Felicity's lives. At first, she'd just mentioned Felicity and her heart had warmed at the concern and anger she'd heard in Oliver's tone.

But that had been nothing compared to his reaction at hearing Laurel's name. He'd gone ballistic, which was completely out of character for the Oliver 2.0, the post Tommy Merlyn's death Oliver. His voice had gone completely cold, yet vibrated with fury. And terror. He knew what Helena Bertinelli was capable of and had all the reasons to be afraid, to be terrified for Laurel's life. Because Helena knew what Laurel meant to him, which made her the perfect bargaining chip. Oliver would do anything to keep Laurel safe. Even offering Frank Bertinelli on a silver platter.

If she had had any doubts about the depth of Oliver's feelings toward Laurel, they'd been officially put to rest. Dinah Laurel Lance was it. The love of Oliver Queen's life. There was no denying that. No hoping for something else. Not that Felicity had really been hoping. Despite what Laurel and everybody else might think.

"I must say," Helena sneered as she stopped in front of Laurel, looked her up and down, "I like the new look. Though I never thought Oliver fell for blondies." She winked at Felicity.

"I never thought he went for crazy bitches, either, but the man always surprises me," Laurel retorted calmly.

Felicity cringed. In her opinion, telling crazy people they were crazy was never a good idea.

Hellen struck viciously, slapping Laurel so hard, her head snapped to the side. "I will enjoy making you suffer until Oliver charges in to save you." She paused as if thinking. "Maybe he'll even be too late."

Laurel slowly turned her head back, licked the blood off her lip. "This is the first and last time you touched me."

Felicity cringed again. She liked the backbone on the woman, but this wasn't the time or the place for bravado. They were both tied to their chairs, at the mercy of the crazy lady and her beefy boyfriend. What was Laurel doing?

Helena laughed. "You're right. I'll let Chris do the honors. I'm thinking Oliver really will be too late."

Felicity's vision turned blurry as tears filled her eyes. Helena seemed to have forgotten about her, concentrating all her hatred on Laurel. And Oliver by proxy. She should've felt relieved she'd probably remain unscathed, but she couldn't muster any relief. Who knew what would befall Laurel, especially now that she's pushed the nutso's buttons. And what would happen to Oliver when he came to their rescue and found...God, she couldn't even think about it.

"What do you think, Chris?" Helena asked her sidekick. "Are you game to teach this fancy lady a lesson or two?"

His grin chilled Felicity's blood. He looked as crazy as his companion. As Helena moved away and he approached Laurel, Felicity wanted to look away, close her eyes, but she couldn't. She wouldn't. Someone like Laurel, no matter the martial arts training she's supposedly gone through at her father's insistence, couldn't stand a chance against a wall of pure muscle and menace. She prayed Oliver would come soon. Very soon.

As she watched through tears, Laurel's arms tightened. Then her hands were suddenly free, and she was off her chair. She jabbed up with her right elbow, blocked a swing with her left arm, while swiftly punching forward with her right hand...And Chris the Sidekick lay on the floor unmoving.

At the same time as Felicity felt a knife at her throat, Laurel has already turned toward her, a gun in her hand. A very steady hand despite the blood oozing from her wrist.

"Drop the knife," she ordered.

Felicity felt Helena tighten her grip on her hair and press the tip of the knife harder against her throat, but there was no pain. There was no time for pain. She was too busy staring with a mixture of confusion, awe, and terror at the barrel of the gun in Laurel's hand. It didn't waver.

"You drop the gun," Helena sneered. "Or I'll kill her."

"I can drop you where you stand and you won't even have time to blink," Laurel retorted.

Helena laughed cruelly, pulling painfully at Felicity's ponytail. "You? Please, you're a lawyer."

"And daughter of a cop. He taught me to shoot when I was still in elementary school. I can hit a playing card at 100 yards. Notice the distance here is much shorter."

Laurel cocked her head slightly and Felicity knew she was sighting. Jesus, she would really shoot Helena Bertinelli. And judging by the way she'd KOd Chris the Sidekick, Felicity was of the inclination to believe that she'd hit her target. Preferably with Felicity staying alive in the process.

There was no opportunity to make good on the threat, though, since the standoff was interrupted by the incursion of a uniformed policeman coming through the door and a hooded figure dropping in from above. Both had their weapons, a gun and a drawn bow, trained on Helena Bertinelli.

"Drop the knife, Ms Bertinelli," Arrow ordered, "and let her go."

Helena smiled cynically. "Really? A voice filter. Are you afraid—"

"Shut up," Laurel snapped. "I can still shoot you."

"Laurel," Quentin Lance warned, his eyes and his gun never wavering from Helena Bertinelli. "Drop the gun, honey, it's all right."

"Not until she lets Felicity go."

Felicity felt her heart warm as fresh tears flooded her eyes. Laurel was protecting her. Laurel Lance was protecting _her_. Felicity Smoak, a nobody. Just a blip in Laurel's life. Yet, she was protecting her.

"Felicity," Arrow said, drawing her gaze. "Remember what D. taught you."

What Diggle taught her? The basic self-defense techniques ran through her mind. Foot stomping, eye gouging, groin kicking...Nothing seemed to fit this particular occasion. Play dead! It might work. It might get her throat cut open, but it might just work.

Felicity went limp and Helena Bertinelli lost her grip. The moment the knife was away from her throat, Felicity sprang forward, seeking refuge with her new best friend Laurel Lance, who promptly pushed her behind her with her free hand, the gun still firmly trained on Helena.

Who's obviously gone off the deep end and pulled her small crossbow from behind her back. She pointed it at Laurel, but before she could shoot, Helena Bertinelli was on her back with an arrow embedded in her heart and a bullet hole in her forehead.

Quentin Lance looked at Arrow. "You better get out of here, before the cavalry arrives," he said as sirens sounded in the distance. I got this." He inclined his head slightly. "Thank you."

Felicity watched Oliver nod in return, smiled reassuringly as he looked at her, then felt her heart squeeze as his eyes lingered on Laurel and their gazes met.

"I'm all right," Laurel whispered. "Go."

He looked like he wanted to say something, he took a step forward as if to touch her, but, as the sirens grew near, turned and parkoured out of the building. Felicity knew he trusted her to make sure Laurel was truly all right. She wouldn't disappoint him.


	10. Chapter 10

Oliver entered the hospital at the same time as Sara.

"It's for Laurel," she explained as she saw him look at the small bag she carried. "She asked me to grab some clothes for her since her suit was covered with blood."

Oliver felt a fist clench around his heart at the memory of how Laurel's suit had become bloody. It had only been her wrists that had been cut, he couldn't even contemplate the fact she could've gotten hurt more. Maybe even killed.

"Ollie," Sara touched his arm. "It wasn't your fault."

But it was. It was all his fault. All he wanted to do was protect her, keep her safe. Even the lying, the hiding the truth from her, had been for her protection. And he'd failed yet again. Helena had kidnapped her because of Laurel's connection to him. She'd only gone after Felicity once she'd realized she'd had no other option. Laurel had been her target all along.

"You better wipe that expression off your face before you see her," Sara said with a small smile. "You do want her to find you attractive, don't you? Well, that expression sure isn't attractive."

Oliver managed a small smile of his own. "Thank you, Sara."

She shrugged. "I didn't do anything. And stop moping and beating yourself up. Laurel knows how to defend herself."

He turned to Felicity who waited for him in front of Laurel's room and almost missed Sara's words, "Better than you think," as she entered the room.

"Are you okay?" he asked Felicity.

She nodded. "I'm fine. My shoulders are sore and my wrists are chafed, but the cut on the neck hasn't even bled much."

Oliver immediately tucked his finger under her chin and gritted his teeth at the small incision.

Felicity placed her hand on his wrist. "It was just a little prick, don't worry about me. Laurel's worse."

His mind conjured all sorts of scenarios. She'd been cut, bled without any of them knowing. She'd had a concussion and was at risk of brain hemorrhage. She'd—

"Oh, no," Felicity quickly said. "I didn't mean it like that. Her wrists were cut when she got rid of the ropes. That's it. A nurse bandaged her up, they prescribed antibiotic in case of infection, but that's it. I didn't mean to upset you."

He wasn't upset. He was terrified. And furious. He wanted to make someone suffer for hurting Laurel and since Helena was out of the picture, there was only one person left. The guy who'd been on the ground when he and Quentin had barged into the warehouse.

"How's the other guy?" he asked, hoping the man was fine and awake so he could kick the living shit out of him.

"He's dead."

Oliver turned toward the raspy voice and his eyes collided with Quentin's. Laurel's father was leaning against the wall outside her room.

"Crushed windpipe."

"That's what the crunch was," Felicity whispered, then elaborated. "When Laurel got free, she...I don't know, it was all a blur, really, but I think she punched the man and I heard this crunch—"

"I didn't tell her," Quentin said. "It was self-defense."

Felicity nodded.

Quentin shook his head. "There's no need to upset her further." At his pointed gaze, Oliver nodded. He wouldn't say a word. And he trusted Felicity wouldn't either.

"How is she?" he asked.

"She's fine. Cranky, with bandaged wrists, but otherwise fine."

Oliver smiled. He knew very well how cranky Laurel could get when achy or sick. "Can I see her?"

"Sure." Quentin waved him in, but stopped him with a hand on his elbow. "Thank you for calling me."

Oliver froze. It had been Arrow to call Lance, not him. He looked at Quentin and there was a strange light in the man's eyes, and a crooked smile playing on his lips. The man knew Oliver was Arrow, but unlike a year ago when he'd hunted him with a vengeance and hated Oliver with fervor, this time Quentin's eyes conveyed thankfulness—for placing himself between Laurel and danger whenever she needed it, probably—and reluctant approval.

Still, the man didn't speak, refusing to acknowledge the truth out loud—he was still a police officer after all, hence at the _right_ side of the law—and Oliver simply nodded, a silent understanding passing between them.

It struck him as ironic, though, that when Quentin Lance has finally mellowed toward him, it was his daughter that has turned frosty.

Her eyes turned equally frosty as she saw him walk through the door. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Oliver fought a smile. Gone was the soft tone she'd used to send him on his way in the warehouse. She was bristly once more. He wanted to kiss her.

Instead he went for glib. "Is that how you greet someone who saved your ass?"

She rolled her eyes. "You didn't save my ass, Queen. I was doing very well on my own, thank you very much."

"Right."

She narrowed her eyes. "I eliminated one threat and was working on the other one when you and my father decided to play knights in shining armor."

"You're welcome," he insisted.

Sara sighed, rolled her eyes. "I'd say 'get a room', but you're already in one, so I'll leave you to it."

"Sara, don't you dare move," Laurel snapped.

"Oh, I'm moving, sister."

Oliver smiled affectionately as Sara closed the door behind her. Then he sat on the bed beside Laurel and gently took her wrists, lifted them for closer inspection. He was glad the bandages were pristine, the blood hasn't seeped through.

"How are you?" he asked gently.

Her eyes softened and she sighed. He hid a smile. Tenderness was the perfect weapon to use against her. She could never get mad, or stay mad, when people were gentle with her. She just couldn't. She was just that particular type of person. Nice, always thinking the best of people. Always seeing the best in him. He adored that trait of hers.

"I'm fine," she whispered.

She tried to tug her hands away, but he wouldn't let her. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

She looked at him with wide eyes. "What do you have to be sorry about?"

"Everything." He sighed. "Lying to you."

She was instantly on guard. "Let me go."

"No," he retorted. She didn't want to talk about the Arrow thing, fine, but he wasn't letting go. He wasn't letting _her_ go. Ever again. He could be patient. "I'm sorry for today. This wouldn't have happened if not for me."

"Oh, please."

"No, Laurel. Helena took you because she knew I'd do anything for you. Even let her get a shot at her father."

She scoffed.

"She knew I would do anything to keep you safe, Laurel. Because I love you."

She pulled her hands away, crossed them on her lap, and stared down at them.

"You might not want to hear it, you might not believe it, but I do. I love you, Laurel. I've always loved you."

She was silent, staring down at her hands.

"There was this woman...on the island. We...I told her there was someone and she asked me if you knew how much I loved you."

"Figures," she said cynically. "Leave it to Oliver Queen to find a willing female even on a presumably deserted island."

He ignored the sarcastic remark. "I told her you would know how much as soon as I got back." He sighed. "It took me a while, but here I am. Telling you. Willing to show you. I can wait. I will wait. And I _will_ get you back. I'm not letting you go again. Ever. Because you're mine and I'm yours. And you know it."

There. The gauntlet was thrown.

After a long, too long, silence, she finally mumbled, "Good luck with that."

He grinned. "Fighting words. I love challenges." He leaned over and pressed a kiss against her short hair. "I'll go now. You need to rest."

He stood and walked to the door, when her quiet question stopped him. "Why did you lie?"

He didn't turn. "I wanted to protect you."

"You suck at it."

Lying or protecting her? He suspected she meant both. He grinned and left her room without another word.


	11. Chapter 11

"Dig, I need to borrow your car."

Diggle looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Don't you have your own? And a bike?"

Oliver nodded. "I do, but Laurel knows what I drive. I don't want her to spot me."

Diggle shook his head. "You're gonna tail your ex? Why don't you just bug her?"

"I'm not bugging Laurel," Oliver scoffed. "It wouldn't feel right."

"But secretly following her is just so right, right?" Felicity asked from her sport behind the computer.

Oliver looked at her. "Well, yeah."

"You could just ask her where she goes," Felicity retorted.

"She's not talking to me. She's avoiding me." Damn, that pissed him off. He'd thrown the gauntlet the other day and apparently she'd picked it up. She was damn good at giving him a run for his money. He just couldn't pin her down. And Sara refused to help. She'd actually told him he was a big boy and if he wanted Laurel he had to work for it or else he didn't deserve her. Ha-ha.

"I'm sure she has her reasons," Felicity replied sweetly, making Diggle chuckle.

"Everybody's a comedian these days," Oliver replied dryly. "I don't see you offering any help either," he reprimanded.

Felicity shrugged. "You're more than capable of getting her back on your own. But you _should_ sweat for it. She's a great woman. So if you want her, you'll have to step up your game. Because at the pace you're going now, we'll all be old and grey when you finally get the girl."

Oliver gritted his teeth. Wasn't this just perfect? Even Felicity's turned against him. Laurel saved her once, _once_, and Felicity was all for girl-power. How many times has he saved her? Shouldn't she be on _his_ side?

But he refused to mope and he refused to wallow. It had never been his strong suit, he much preferred being proactive. Which meant figuring out where Laurel has spent the better parts of the afternoons since she's left the hospital.

"Diggle," he snapped.

Diggle shook his head. "You're not getting my keys."

"Fine." Oliver wrestled him onto the floor and fished the keys out of his jacket pocket. "Thanks, man," he said as he walked to the door.

.

.

"Fuel it up before you return it!" John said before Oliver disappeared, but of course, the man ignored him. He was probably already making plans for how to best tail Laurel.

John shook his head. He should find it funny that his friend was so completely and hopelessly lovesick, but he didn't. Maybe it wasn't manly to admit it, and he would die before saying it aloud, but he found it heartwarming and sweet. Yeah, he'd never say that one out loud, for sure. He thought romance or feelings like the ones Oliver obviously had for Laurel existed only in rom-coms, sappy chick-flicks, and romance novels his mother swore by. He was happy—and a little envious—to be shown otherwise. Because there was no denying what was in Oliver's eyes and in his expression every time he thought of or talked about Laurel. John hasn't had much opportunities to see Oliver interact with the woman, but what he'd been able to glimpse had been humbling.

There was always this mixture of love and longing in Oliver's eyes, mixed with despair for having to lie to her, having to push her away. Now, with her knowing the truth about his alter ego, that despair was gone, replaced by determination. But the love and longing persisted.

Muffled grunts and sounds of fists hitting flesh interrupted his musings and he turned, seeking the source, finding Felicity engrossed by a video playing on her computer.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Research."

"Researching what?"

"Martial arts."

Intrigued, John sat beside her, and looked at the video. What she was watching didn't look like martial arts. At least not like any oriental martial art. What she was watching was more along the lines of street fighting. Dirty fighting with blows below the belt—literally. The man in the middle of the melee used everything and anything available to him to fend off his attackers.

It was brutal. And brutally efficient. And he's seen this kind of fighting before.

"What are you watching?" he asked.

"Krav Maga. Though it doesn't look like what JLo did in that movie."

Oh yeah, John has seen this before. In real life, in real time. And live it looked even more brutal. Yet efficient. When he'd asked one of the men his unit had worked with how quickly he could bring his opponent down, the guy had just smirked, and said, "Two seconds if he's untrained. Four if he is." The man had been Israeli, IDF, the elite Sayeret unit—though John had always suspected that hadn't been the entire story. But John hadn't pried, and he'd also never seen the man again after the mission had ended.

"Why are you watching this?"

Felicity paused the video and looked at him, while pointing at the stilled image. "Because this looks like what Laurel Lance did to the man in the warehouse."

John shook his head slightly. The fact Laurel Lance had taken self-defense lessons, that she still trained sporadically, was a well-known fact. But there had been no mention of Laurel being proficient in Krav or even knowing about it. She wasn't a celebrity, but she was a rather prominent figure in Starling City. If she'd enrolled in a Krav program, someone was bound to speak about it. There were only three gyms in the city offering Krav Maga training, with instructors that have actually trained in Israel, and they were very selective.

"That's impossible, Felicity."

She shook her head, her eyes almost imploring. "No, I'm telling you, John, this is what I saw. Sure, I was crying and everything was blurry, but this looks like what I saw her do."

"Felicity." John put her hand around her shoulders, squeezing slightly. She'd been upset that day, under shock, and, as she said, crying. Laurel could've done some fancy MA stunt, but Felicity's imagination and fear had turned it into something that wasn't.

"John, it took seconds. And the guy was on the floor. He must have had 100 pounds on her, yet she knocked him down like it was nothing." She bit her lower lip, staring at the still paused video. "She killed him," she whispered. "She killed him in _seconds_. With one punch."

It could've been a lucky shot, but somehow John doubted it. He didn't know Laurel from Adam, but what he did know and what he had seen so far, there was steel underneath that beautiful, seemingly soft exterior. What had struck him the most was the protective streak he had glimpsed from time to time. She protected those dear to her—her father, her sister, her mother, Tommy Merlyn—she protected Oliver's secret no matter what happened between them. And that day with Helena Bertinelli she'd protected Felicity.

Felicity had told him and Oliver that Laurel had been completely calm throughout the entire ordeal. She'd knocked down Helena's sidekick in a heartbeat, took his gun, and aimed it steadily at Helena, Felicity had claimed. In John's opinion that wasn't a reaction of someone unaccustomed to using enough force to possibly kill a man no matter the training. Such calm and steadiness wasn't a common reaction for a damsel in distress Laurel Lance had come across ever since he's start working for Oliver Queen.

So what game was she playing? If it even was a game. It looked to him as if she usually refrained from using her apparent knowledge—according to Felicity—in order to prevent something bad from happening. Like killing someone?

If that was true, if what Felicity had deduced and almost convinced him of, then Oliver Queen wasn't the only one keeping secrets. Laurel was keeping one from him as well.


	12. Chapter 12

"Where are you going?" Oliver muttered as he followed Laurel's car. He's been tailing her for almost an hour, and she didn't give any inclination of stopping. They'd left the interstate and were driving through rural country which meant he'd have to stop soon or risk her spotting him.

Just as he was contemplating abandoning the mission, she finally turned onto a dirt road leading toward what looked like a large barn.

He ditched the car in a copse of trees down the road and approached the barn on foot, thankful for the cover the thick forest on this particular side of the structure provided. He passed a 'Private property-trespassers will be prosecuted' sign and wondered at its significance. It was a barn, wasn't it? And why did the view of the sign make him think the owner meant something else for the last word? Like 'trespassers will be sorry'.

The structure, as he stood at the back wall, was built in concrete and then covered with timber to give it a barn-like look. It also made it rather easy to climb toward the windows at the top.

One look inside confirmed the not-barn theory. It was a gym. Half of the floor was covered with mats, the other with an intricate obstacle course up to the high ceiling and one side of the gym turned into a climbing wall with very sparse handholds.

"What the hell?"

The interior of the structure looked like a compact military training facility. What was Laurel doing here?

At the moment, rhythmically punching air, her movements quick, contained, and fluid, her feet constantly moving, keeping her balance. She looked magnificent. And sexy as hell in tight black yoga pants and an even tighter tank top. Her feet and hands were bare, her wrists still bandaged.

His heart stopped when a man approached her from behind, his intent clear. Damn it, why didn't she hear the guy? Then Oliver noticed the ear buds. She probably had her music at full blast. He contemplated the quickest entry through the window when the man attacked her. And Oliver's mouth dropped open as she dropped her attacker in a heartbeat, the movement so fast the fight was over before it had seemingly started.

She grinned down at the man, and Oliver frowned. She obviously knew him. And the man who was on his feet a second later and went on the attack again. As Oliver watched, the two combatants sparred, constantly changing sides from attacker to 'victim'. The fights were short, the movements lightning fast and sparse, yet from his perch up on the window, he could see each of the moves could inflict damage to the opponent. It _could_, because the two weren't going for the truly vulnerable spots like the throat, nose and eyes. They also refrained from grabbing fingers, kicking the knees, and, in Laurel's case, kicking the groin.

However, that didn't mean they were pulling punches.

Oliver gritted his teeth as Laurel received a vicious open-handed chop to the kidney, but instead of doubling-up in pain and going down, she returned the favor with a open-handed shot to the solar plexus that sent her opponent staggering back as air rushed from his lungs.

Oliver grinned. He didn't get off on violence, but watching Laurel fight like that sent blood coursing through his veins as his imagination kicked into higher gear. Visions of the two of them sparring, of feeling her sweat-drenched body move against his, how he'd pin her under him...Catch her lips with his, lick the sweat off her throat as she writhed under him no longer trying to escape...

His pants suddenly got too tight. It was time to think of something else.

He couldn't _not_ think of Laurel, so he turned his mind toward the obvious question. Why was she keeping all this a secret? Because there had been no mention of her having such extensive training in all the time he's been back in the city. And why hadn't she used her training before when she'd been in trouble. Sure she'd pulled off some fancy moves from time to time, but still.

Why was she hiding her training? Why was she keeping it a secret? And who was the guy who sparred with her?

Jealousy reared its ugly head as the man in question gently lifted her bandaged wrists for closer inspection. She shook her head and smiled reassuringly. And then said something that made her companion utter something akin to a curse and draw her into his embrace. She went willingly, and Oliver felt his heart stutter.

Because she let the man hold her with care, with tenderness as he ran his palm up and down her spine in a soothing motion, while she'd only let Oliver hold her in passionate frenzy the night he'd gone to her apartment hoping he wasn't too late.

She hadn't let him be tender that night, make love to her like he wanted to, like he'd dreamed about for the five hellish years he'd been gone. She's been wild and frenzied, demanding he go fast and hard...It had been only later, when she'd fallen asleep beside him, that he could hold her close, brush his fingers softly over her skin, kiss her tenderly.

She hadn't let him hold her with love and tenderness, yet she allowed that stranger to embrace her gently. Which meant she trusted that man more than she trusted Oliver. He admitted she had good reasons for that mistrust, yet it still hurt. It hurt watching some other man do—have—what Oliver wanted.

So before he could do something, he'd regret, he quickly and silently dropped down from his perch and returned to Diggle's car.

.

.

Laurel lifted her head off Adam's chest and took a step back. "Sorry about that."

He shook his head. "Do not worry about it. Are you feeling better now?"

She shrugged. "A little."

He nodded, and she knew he understood. Better than anyone. "It will get better, you know that. Taking a life is not a light matter, it stays with you."

"I know. It does."

He sighed as they both thought of that day, long past, when she'd first used her training as a deadly weapon. She'd had no choice then either. But it weighted on her still. It always will.

She admired Adam Bachman in that context. He'd taken numerous lives, had been trained to, had had to, yet he'd stayed 'sane', normal, not letting those souls affect his life. That didn't mean he was remorseless, that he had no feelings. He felt, deeply, and the dead weighted on him. Nevertheless, he functioned, had an ordinary life—as normal a life as a former IDF commando could have—had befriended her, helped her to channel her anger into honing her body, her skills, taught her to use her body as a deadly weapon when need arose.

And taught her that fighting, killing was not the answer. That deadly force should be used only in extreme circumstances. In true life-and-death situations. That's why she kept training the not-so-deadly martial arts as well as Krav.

"Remember what I said, Dinah."

She smiled. He was the only one who used her first name. He claimed it was easier to pronounce. And he was right. Her middle name always sounded a little French when he said it, since he'd never gotten rid of the accent that was a dead giveaway he wasn't a native.

"Compartmentalize. That is the key. Sometimes, there is no other choice but kill, and you cannot let that define you, shape you, or cripple you."

"What if there was a choice? What if I made the wrong decision?"

"There were two of them. He had a gun. She had a knife. There was another hostage." He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. "One threat had to be neutralized as soon as possible to prevent harm to the hostage."

She breathed deeply, remembering the fear on Felicity's face.

"You did what you had to do, Dinah," Adam said forcefully.

She smiled sadly. He was right. She'd done what she had to. Perhaps killing the man hadn't been the correct choice, maybe she could've broken a few bones and render him unconscious, but then she'd had her back to him the entire time she'd aimed her gun at Helena Berinelli. Who knew what the man could've done if she'd let him live?

She sighed. What was done was done. She had yet another ghost to keep her company. And if she took her sister's offer, the collection was bound to get bigger. She'd deal with it when and if the time came.

"Have you learned anything?"

Adam's expression turned grim. "I have." He walked to the edge of the mats and picked up the folder he'd dropped earlier. Handed it to her. "League of Assassins, also known as the League of Shadows or Society of Shadows. Mostly guns for hire, specializing in assassinations and terrorism, although my source suspects they sometimes have their own agenda. The base of operations is somewhere in the Himalayas. The leader is Ra's as Ghul. He is an enigma. No photographs exist, and my source believes the original leader is long dead, and the name is passed on to his followers."

Laurel quickly scanned the file. It wasn't much, no photos, no locations, mostly just rumors, speculation, and hearsay. However, she trusted Adam's source and his or her information.

"If your sister is truly one of them—"

"Was," she corrected.

Adam shook his head. "You do not leave the League. Not alive, Dinah."

She remembered what Sara told her that first day. _"There's only one way you leave the League."_

"They will come for her," Adam said. "Be ready."

Ready for anything.


	13. Chapter 13

Oliver smiled at the blond woman who opened the door. "Hello, Mrs. Lance."

Dinah Drake returned the smile. "I'm no longer a Lance, Oliver. I've gone back to Drake. But Dinah is okay."

He could never call her by her first name. It just wouldn't feel right. Wouldn't sound right. For him, Dinah was his Laurel, although he never called her that. Her mother was and always will be Mrs. Lance. Or Ms Drake.

"What the hell are you doing here, Queen?" Quentin growled from the doorway to the living room.

"Quentin!" Ms Drake scowled at her ex-husband. "Where are your manners?!"

"Don't worry about my manners, Dinah," he replied. "Worry about this guy."

Oliver looked at the finger pointed at him and sighed internally. And here he thought they patched things up a bit in front of Laurel's hospital room. "Is Sara home?"

Lance was in his face in a heartbeat. "What do you want with Sara? Don't you have the hots for Laurel now?"

"Quentin!"

"I thought you changed, Queen," Lance growled. "But I see you're back to your old tricks."

"No tricks, Mr. Lance." Oliver tried to convey his true feelings and intentions through his voice and gaze, hoping the man would see and listen. Understand. "I just need to talk to Sara for a bit."

"What about?" Lance was still suspicious, but not as threatening.

"Laurel," Sara answered for Oliver. "Right?"

He nodded.

"Come in, Oliver," Ms Drake invited.

But Sara was already pushing him back into the hallway. "It's private, mom." She looked at her father. "Dad, really, we'll be discussing how Ollie can win Laurel back, and it'll probably involve sex talk, so—"

"Just go," Lance said desperately.

.

.

"Thank God you helped me get out of there," Sara said thankfully and bit into her burger. They were sitting in Big Belly Burger, having a quick dinner. "I was going nuts."

Oliver grinned. "Are they trying to wrap you in cotton?"

"More like bubble-wrap." She sighed. "I love them. I really do, but they're driving me insane."

"They love you, Sara," he said, knowing very well how it felt returning home to a parent who's so happy to see you she turns a little smothering. "They thought you were dead. They're entitled to buy stock in bubble wrap."

She sighed again. "I know. It's just..."

"Tiring," he supplied.

"Exactly. And you came just in the nick of time. So thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Any progress with Laurel?"

Oliver shook his head.

Sara laughed softly. "My sister can be stubborn when she wants to be. So can you be."

He looked down into his soda. "I don't know what to do, Sara. When we were in that warehouse, she seemed to have warmed up, but then, in the hospital, she went icy again." He sighed. "I told her I loved her. I told her I'd wait, that I wasn't letting her go. And she went on the defensive. She ignores my calls, texts, emails, Facebook and Twitter messages. She ignores me when we meet—"

"Careful there, Ollie," Sara chuckled. "You sound like a stalker."

"I turned into one today."

"What?"

"I followed her."

"Jeez." She shook her head.

"I wanted to know where she spends her afternoons lately."

Sara stared at him intently. "And what did you discover?"

"Did you two talk about her training?" he asked, trying to gouge her reaction. Did she know everything? Has Laurel told her of the extent of her training? _What_ she trained at?

Sara nodded slowly, her expression guarded. "We did."

She knew. "How long has she trained in Krav Maga?"

She didn't look away. "Direct question."

"That demands a direct answer."

"Six years."

Laurel's been training in the deadly Israeli system since the time he and Sara went missing. Yet another regret for him. Maybe it sounded conceited, but he suspected Laurel would've never gone close to this particular fighting system if it wasn't for him.

"Since the news broke of the Queen's Gambit sinking," Sara elaborated.

Oliver hung his head. Yes, yet another regret he'd have to live with. "Why?" Why Krav Maga? Why something so deadly?

"She said she was filled with anger," Sara said softly. "She said she needed a valve. A safe release."

Anything would've, _could've_ been better than this.

"She could've self-destructed, Oliver," Sara continued, oblivious to his inner turmoil. "Mom left, dad started drinking...She could've done the same or worse, instead she concentrated on her studies and found a good valve for the anger."

She was right. He knew she was right. But there were other martial arts, other fighting systems that could've worked just the same, only less lethal. Because now he knew the death of Helena's associate hadn't been an accident. Hadn't been self-defense gone bad. Laurel had known what she was doing. She'd assessed the situation as kill or be killed and had acted accordingly.

And now she had to live with the man's death on her conscience. God, he didn't want her to. He didn't want anything so dark and ugly touching her. Yet, it had. And once again, it was his fault. What he wouldn't do to take it all back. To go back in time and do everything all over again. Get into that warehouse a few minutes early. Tell her the truth about his double life from the start. Not take Sara on the boat. Not go with his father.

There were so many things he wished he could redo, but there was no turning back time. Life offered no rewind button. One just had to live with the past, in the present, and look to the future.

And Laurel Lance was his. Always had been.

"Sara, I need help. I...I don't know what to do."

She cocked her head sympathetically. "Woo her."

He just looked at her.

"You're doing it all wrong," she explained. "You're too pushy. You're crowding her. You need to take a different approach. You need to be more subtle."

He was still silent, and she sighed. "Go full-romance on the woman. Try flowers, love notes, music over the radio. She likes to listen to Romantic FM in the evenings, request a song." She shrugged. "I don't know, maybe I'm out of the loop. Just to be on the safe side, ask Felicity."

"I don't think you can get out of the romance loop," he said. "Thanks, Sara."

"You're welcome." Then she laughed. "Who would've thought we'd one day discuss how best to romance my sister."


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Just a quick note to make something clear...For those who're wondering whether Laurel (as the possible future Black Canary) will develop her 'sonic scream', this fanfiction will be a little more 'realistic' (as much as a fanfic based on a comic book and a TV show can be), so there will be NO superpowers. Sorry. I just don't know how to write superpowers or people having them. And second...I've never read the Green Arrow comics, so I have no idea what they're like or what's their plot. I only watch the show, and since I don't particularly like the development of a certain female character so far, I decided to write this story to compensate, if I may use that expression._

* * *

Laurel was developing one hell of a headache. And she wasn't even at work yet. First her alarm hadn't worked. Then her shower had broken while she was rinsing off, and she'd had to wipe the soap off her skin with her towel and pull her clothes on while still feeling slimy. Then her heel had broken off when she was descending her stairs requiring a quick, and wobbly return to her apartment. There were no cabs around, so she'd had to walk to work—which wasn't that bad, she was used to it, but not when she was so late. And to make matters worse, an idiot had crashed into her as she was exiting the coffee shop, making her spill her latte, and she hadn't dared get back in for another one. There was a silver lining though. At least, she hadn't spilled her latte all over herself.

So this accursed morning she was late, her shoes didn't exactly match the suit, she was slimy from the soap and slightly sweaty from her fast walk to work, she didn't have any caffeine in her system, and she was beyond cranky. And thinking about yesterday's afternoon 'business' meeting didn't help matters. It made them even worse.

Hence the headache and the scowl she could feel creasing her forehead. Wrinkles be damned, she deserved a scowl today.

A coworker greeted her as she exited the elevator, but she didn't respond. She didn't trust herself to respond, because God only knew what might've come out of her mouth. A growl, maybe a curse. She didn't feel very sociable today, and she hoped her coworkers would notice and leave her alone. Which went for Donner, as well. She really wasn't in the mood.

And her mood became even darker as she noticed a bouquet of roses on her desk. Her scowl deepened. She wanted to hate it. She really did. Nevertheless, she couldn't. Because it wasn't huge and tacky. It was just perfect. In size, arrangement, and color. The roses, in a delicate crystal vase, weren't the cliché red, but cream with just a touch of blush on the center petals. There was no card, but she didn't need one. She knew whom the roses were from.

The same person who's sent her flowers for the past week or so—yellow tulips, colorful gerbera daisies, lavender lilies, mixed bouquets, potted hydrangeas, daffodils, flowers she had no idea even existed...

Oliver Jonas Queen.

Damn the man. Why couldn't he get the hint and leave her alone? Did he really have to be so stubborn? So obtuse? Why wouldn't he move on, let her be?

And why did he have to do a complete about-face in his pursuit, going from stalker mode to romantic seducer? It was so much easier resisting him when he was crowding her, than when he was wielding his magic from afar.

Those who didn't know him, the people who only knew the persona he portrayed in public, thought Oliver Queen was pretty much irresistible when he was close, when he turned on his charm and seductive prowess. But the Oliver Queen only a few people knew, the _real_ Oliver Queen, was absolutely devastating when he decided to be subtle. When he worked from the sidelines, from afar. He seduced with a sweet text message, a small, inexpensive gift, a bouquet of flowers...He didn't need to be close, he didn't need to be present, what he did, what he sent, conveyed the message.

_I love you. I want you. I will wait for you. I will have you._

She knew he'd used this particular tactic only once before. Many years ago. With her. And he'd succeeded. And now, he was using it again. But she'd be damned before she admitted it was working.

It couldn't work. It shouldn't work. She had her reasons. Maybe to some, her reasons, her reasoning may sound stupid and idiotic, but she didn't see it that way. To her, the reasons—well, one reason, really—were valid. She might sound petty and childish, but she just couldn't let him get close again.

She loved him. She would always love him. He was the one, but the way she saw it, there just wasn't any future for them. Not anymore.

She picked up the vase, and carried it to DA Spencer's secretary's desk. "Here you go, Doris."

Doris Vaughn looked at her with wide eyes. "I can't accept them, Laurel. They're yours."

Laurel shrugged. Doris had no idea, but her apartment was full of flowers, smelling like a florist shop. Or a funeral home. She'd taken most of the bouquets to the hospital, but a few she kept. The smaller ones, the biedermeier bouquets. The ones knew she'd keep and chose the most fragrant flowers for. Damn the man.

"I don't have anywhere to put them, and I need my desk clear." She smiled. "Besides, they look so much better on yours."

Doris blushed. "Why won't you tell anyone who sends them?"

Laurel blinked. "An ex-boyfriend."

"Ex?"

"Yes," Laurel affirmed. "Ex."

Doris smiled. "Judging from the flowers I don't think he wants to be an ex any longer."

"We don't always get what we want," Laurel replied and went back to her desk, but not fast enough to miss Doris' muttered, "Oliver Queen does."


	15. Chapter 15

_A Starling City Sentinel monthly column_

_There Is Hope (That Romance Still Lives) by Aisling Brennan_

_There's a certain radio station broadcasting on our Seaboard that caters to romance and the romantic. Both those true romantics at heart and the closet romantics that mask the romantic in them and unleash it only when they're alone, in the evening and late at night, when they turn on their radios and tune in to Romantic FM._

_This author is one of the latter, but is using this column to come out of the closet. So, here it is, I'm a romantic. A hopeless romantic, but a hopeful one at the same time. A believer in romance and true love. And this hope has been renewed in the last 17 days, when I became an even more avid follower of this particular radio station._

_Why?_

_The answer is very simple. Because of O._

_Who is O, you ask._

_Well, the answer to this question is not so simple. It's impossible, in fact, since the man or woman hiding behind the initial (fake or real, name or surname, no one knows) is adamant about staying anonymous. What I can answer is, that O has been, for the past 17 days, occupying the radio waves with his or her requests for songs to be played, dedicating them to his or her 'love of my life'. No name, no initial, no acronym, just 'love of my life'. Simple and to the point._

_O's music taste in love songs spans decades, genres and performers, running from failsafe hits and chart toppers, legends and classics, to indie songs and literal unknowns. From The Carpenters and Elvis, to Bon Jovi and Pink Floyd, John Mayer, Michael Bublé, Shania Twain, Whitney Houston, Bette Midler, Adele, Train, Billy Joel, Eric Clapton, Sarah McLachlan, Mark Knopfler, Rod Stewart, Chantal Kreviazuk, Barry White, Kari Kimmel, Train, Peabo Bryson, and the crossover sensation Il Divo to name just a few of his selections._

_O's multiple song requests per night, which are regularly granted, mind you, are sent through texts and e-mails, always accompanied by a short message to complement a certain song, and the dedication._

_'To the love of my life.'_

_It sounds like a cliché—it _is_ a cliché—and I can already hear the cynics out there clamoring that it's all fake, a marketing ploy to raise the ratings. Sorry, folks, but to this author, and the numerous followers of the radio station that have grown in numbers in the past two weeks, it sounds incredibly romantic. Sincere, honest. From the heart._

_Those six words, and the songs O requests, speak to us, to the romantic part of us, even if it's hidden and buried deep. Those six words show us, tell us, there is still hope. That romance still exists. That love, true love, love that can last a lifetime is possible. O is living it, O is experiencing it, O is sharing a small part of it with us._

_This author is thankful. Awed. Teary. And a little envious._

_And a lot curious as to what the love of O's life has to say about it. Does he or she listen to the songs? Does he or she listen to the songs snuggled on the couch with O? Are they close or are separated by oceans and continents?_

_This author and the other listeners to Romantic FM are still waiting for a dedication from the love of O's life to O. Until then, the radio watch continues._

_We'll keep waiting, and listening. And dreaming. Because O is showing us that there is still hope. That romance still lives. That when it comes to love, everything and anything is possible. Even listening to love songs without shedding tears of despair and loneliness._

___-—-_ This month's feature columnist Aisling Brennan is a movie and music blogger, the author of The Power of _Music, and a StarNews correspondent._


	16. Chapter 16

Laurel cursed softy, turned off the radio, and sat on her bed with a deep sigh. This was getting ridiculous. _He_ was being utterly and truly ridiculous. Dedicating songs to 'the love of his life'. Ridiculous. When would it stop? She's been avoiding him for the past month, didn't respond to his messages, didn't thank him for the flowers...

He really needed to stop this. Immediately. People were starting to take notice, to pay attention, and that idiotic column in the newspaper didn't help matters one bit. And while she usually couldn't care less about people gossiping and speculating, this time she _did_ care. The speculation was starting to spread at the DA's office as well. She knew Doris has already made the connection between the flowers and the 'O' dedicating songs on the radio. She couldn't afford more people putting two and two together and the news to reach someone's ears. There was something bigger at stake than her or Oliver's love lives. Something more important depended on him leaving her alone. He was ruining everything!

So what would it take for him to get the message? Maybe she should take a page out of his book and dedicate a song to him. Madonna's _Power of Goodbye_ came to mind, but it would probably be too subtle. And her telling him to leave her alone—again—wouldn't do the trick either. It would take a direct hit to take the message across.

She picked up her phone and dialed Adam.

.

.

The next evening Oliver was feeling rather pleased with himself. Despite he'd earlier worked alongside Sara to bring down the latest antique smuggling ring in Starling City, he wasn't late for the fundraiser. The smugglers were small fish looking for their share of the market, and besides being annoying, they were easily dealt with. It was almost too easy. He needed a challenge.

Beside the one he was currently working on, that is. Getting Laurel Lance back. Forever. Not to brag, but he felt that mission was going rather well. He's sent his texts with dedication to Romantic FM during the ride to the Gell Museum and the thought of her listening to them made a smile spread over his features.

A photographer snapped a photo, but his reporting colleague refrained from asking the obvious question. He was once again attending a gala event solo. There was only one woman he wanted on his arm.

The same woman who walked into the Grell Museum main hall with Starling City's Assistant District Attorney, Adam Donner, and Oliver's mind went blank. Because Laurel Lance didn't just walk in on Donner's arm, she walked in _holding the man's hand_. The hands-clasped-fingers-intertwined kind of hand holding and they both wore million-dollar smiles.

Everything around Oliver disappeared until there was just him, Donner, and Laurel. Him on one side of the lobby the two of them on the other. Him alone, them together. Happy, smiling. _Holding hands_. It was the hand holding that cut the deepest. He'd never seen her hold Tommy's hand, Oliver had been the only one who had held Laurel's hand. Until now. The image of Donner and Laurel's joined hands was seared on his brain, and he knew would haunt him forever.

Was this why she's been avoiding him, why she's told him he'd never get her back? That they'd never be together? Because she'd meant it? Because she was over him and ready to move on? Laurel wasn't a woman to play with people's feelings. She wasn't a woman to toy with a man. She was a woman who felt deeply and when she did, she closed her eyes and jumped. And the image she projected here, tonight, was that of a girlfriend. Adam Donner's girlfriend. A woman who was off-limits to anyone else.

No matter how many flowers, texts, or e-mails he sent, no matter how many songs he dedicated to her over the radio, Laurel Lance was taken.

Wasn't she?

As soon as Donner left her side, Oliver approached her. "Hey, Laurel."

She turned toward him, and the smile disappeared from her face. "Oliver."

He hated to be responsible for that serious expression on her face, the absence of her smile. "You look beautiful," he said.

She did. The dark-green dress made her skin glow, and the bangs that fell sideways onto her forehead made her face look softer, younger. She _was_ beautiful.

She blushed slightly. "Thank you."

"Are you working tonight?" he asked.

She blinked. "No, why?"

He shrugged. "You're here with Donner."

"She's here with me as my date, Queen," the man in question answered and Oliver felt his heart plummet.

"Date, huh?" he asked, still looking at her. "How long has this been going on?"

"Almost three weeks," Donner answered for her. "Laurel, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

She smiled—_smiled—_at the man. "I'll be right there, Adam."

Three weeks. She's been dating this guy while he's been sending her flowers, dedicating songs. Wooing her. Why hadn't Sara told him about this? What hadn't anyone told him about this?

"You're dating _him_?" he whispered, not trusting his voice.

She scowled. "You make it sound like it's something bad. We're co-workers that also happen to date. It's not a crime, Oliver."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded.

Her gaze turned frosty, and she squared her shoulders. "Because it's none of your business."

"Laurel—"

"It's not, Oliver. There's nothing between us, we're barely friends."

It felt like a shot in the gut. "There's everything between us, Laurel."

She shook her head. "No, there isn't. I told you months ago. I told you repeatedly. You just wouldn't listen. We are over. I've moved on, so should you. I hope you find someone that makes you happy."

She was the one who made him happy. She was the one, period.

"Thank you for the flowers, Oliver. And the songs. But you need to stop. Don't make it any worse. I'm with Adam now. Excuse me."

She made to walk past him to join Donner, but he stopped her by clasping her wrist. He needed to know. "Why him?"

She looked at him. "Because he's nothing like you."

She tugged her hand out of his slackened grip and left him staring after her with his heart in pieces and his soul shattered.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: This chapter was written long before episode 2x07 (State v. Queen), hence...You'll see. And I decided not to change anything._

* * *

Oliver wasn't feeling any better the next morning as he entered his office. The feelings he was feeling have changed though. He was furious.

"What do we know about Adam Donner?" he asked as soon as he saw Felicity at her desk.

Felicity looked up from the screen and frowned. "He's trying your mother's case?"

He just looked at her.

She sighed. "What do you want me to look for?"

"Everything," he snarled. "Anything that can prove he's a bastard underneath all that polish."

"I don't know how that might help your mother, they'll just find another prosecutor. And it might delay the trial."

He shook his head. "This is not about my mother. This is about Laurel."

Her forehead creased in a puzzled frown. "Laurel?"

His hands curled into fists, and he got yet another urge to smash something, but he curbed it. He'd already done enough damage to his room upon returning home from the fundraiser. "She's dating him."

"What?!"

Oliver nodded. "That was my reaction last night when I found out. And I wanted to smash his pretty face in."

Felicity was shaking her head vehemently. "How is that even possible? She's in love with you."

"Is she?"

She looked at him as if she wanted to smack him upside the head. "Of course she is, she's just pissed off at you. With good reason, I might add." Her frown deepened. "That doesn't explain her hooking up with a co-worker, though. How tacky is that?"

"I'll take your word on that one. Get me some dirt on the guy, Felicity."

"On it, boss."

.

.

John avoided yet another vicious punch to the face and had had enough. Oliver has been pummeling first at that wooden dummy—that currently lay broken in pieces on the floor of the Arrowcave—and then at him for the better part of the day. It was just his luck most bad guys crawled out of their holes at night. There were still a couple of hours left before Oliver could unleash the Arrow at those poor unsuspecting idiots. John was feeling rather sorry for them at the moment.

"Would you like to talk about it?" he asked as he danced out of range. Again.

"About what?"

"Oh, I don't know," John panted. "What has you so angry you want to rearrange my face bones?"

"It's Laurel."

John could tell him that was how domestic violence started—first the guy pummeled on other people, then started on the girlfriend or wife—but refrained. Oliver would never hit Laurel, but he might just hit him again.

"What about Laurel?"

"She's dating Donner." The reply was a snarl.

"What?!"

Oliver stopped moving and cocked his head. "You know, both you and Felicity said the same thing when I told you. In the almost exact tone even."

John rolled his eyes. "Ha-ha. What is this bullshit about Donner and Laurel?"

Oliver shrugged, his eyes murderous. "You know as much as I do. And I hope we'll know more when Felicity shows up."

As Oliver went back into his half-crouch and John contemplated whether start praying or fight as if he was in the army again, the back door to the Arrowcave opened and Felicity marched in. Followed by Sara Lance.

Oliver straightened and walked up to them, leaving John to breathe a sigh of relief. It's not that he couldn't have taken him, but it would hurt. A lot. Both of them. And they all needed Oliver whole and healthy.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" Oliver snarled and grabbed Sara's arm.

She was free in an instant, glaring. "Tell you what?"

"That Laurel is dating Adam Donner," Felicity supplied.

"What?!"

John hid his smile. The news kept surprising everyone.

"Have you found out anything?" Oliver asked Felicity.

She shook her head. "The guy is clean."

"Dig deeper."

She sighed, nodded, and walked to her computers with a resolute expression. Which meant she was done playing nice and ready for illegality. John snickered softly. Who would've thought that the girl who had seemed such a straight shooter when Oliver had recruited her, would be so adept at hacking? And so willing whenever Oliver asked her. John quickly shook that thought away. That way lay trouble.

"I still don't get it, man," he said walking to where Oliver and Sara stood. "Why would she date Donner?"

"Why wouldn't she?" Sara asked suddenly. "He's single, handsome. He's in her profession, has a steady income. He's been pursuing her for a while—"

"What?"

She looked at Oliver and shrugged. "He first asked her out after the Dollmaker thing."

"How do you know that?" Oliver asked.

"She told me."

"But she didn't tell you she was dating him?"

She just shook her head, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Why would she tell you about that first invitation and not about this?" Felicity asked from behind them, and they all looked at her. She swiveled her chair about and crossed her arms. "I mean, what's the point. From what Donner told Oliver, they've been dating for the past three weeks. The Dollmaker kidnapped her months ago. So why not tell Sara?"

"Maybe she wanted to keep it private." Oliver suggested in a grave tone.

"When she told me about the dinner invitation, which she accepted, by the way, she made it sound like she wasn't into him. She didn't make it sound like a date, just two colleagues sharing a meal." She paused, frowned. "She told me she wasn't comfortable around him."

"He was the one who sprung that trap on you," John supplied. "Is it possible she's doing this to protect you?"

"She said she was with him because he wasn't like me."

Burn. John looked at his friend sympathetically. Laurel sure knew where to stick the proverbial dagger.

They were all silent, until Sara rubbed her palms together. "I guess I'm the designated interrogator then."

Felicity frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

"We have a date tomorrow afternoon. I might as well ask her a few questions."

"Date?" Oliver asked.

"Just the two of us

"Can I come with you?" Felicity chimed in. "We could make it a girls' night. We could play good cop, bad cop."

Sara shook her head, looking slightly uncomfortable. "It's just Laurel and me, Felicity. Sisters' night."

John wasn't convinced. There was something fishy about her expression, about her explanation. About the recently frequent 'sisterly dates' between her and Laurel. He could see Oliver wasn't that convinced either, but they both refrained from asking questions that they knew wouldn't be answered. What were the Lance sisters up to?

"Oh, okay," Felicity said with a disappointed smile. "Next time maybe?"

Sara grinned. "Sure. We could go to that karaoke bar down at the waterfront."

"And we can sing _I Am Woman_." Felicity jumped to her feet. "Like _Sex and the City_ only set in Starling."

John shared an I-am-a-man-what-do-I-know-about-how-women-think look with Oliver, who probably had no idea, there were two _Sex and the _City movies. But if Felicity wanted to have a karaoke girls' night out with the Lance sisters, who were they to prevent it. With Sara and Laurel around at least nothing overly dangerous could happen to her.


	18. Chapter 18

"So...you and Donner, huh?"

Laurel paused in removing her grappling gloves. She's been waiting for this interrogation for the entire afternoon. She was surprised Sara's waited this long.

"Yes."

"Want to tell me about it?"

Laurel looked at her sister. "Is this your curiosity talking? Or someone else's?"

Sara wiped her face with a towel and then slung it over her shoulders. "Mine." At Laurel's pointed look, she shrugged. "We're just concerned about you."

Laurel scoffed. "Oh, please. He's not concerned. He's just irked I'm not falling at his feet professing my undying love and devotion."

Sara sighed. "Fine, have it your way. I know you wouldn't believe—"

"No, I wouldn't so let's just drop it."

"Fine, again. _I_'m still curious, though. What's going on, Laurel?"

She shrugged. It was complicated, and she wasn't at liberty to talk about it. "I'm dating Adam Donner."

"Why?"

She looked at Sara. "He's single. He's handsome. He's reputably employed, has a steady income—"

"That's the reason's Felicity listed."

Laurel winked. "Felicity is a smart girl."

Sara bumped her shoulder. "Those are not good enough reasons for dating someone. You told me you didn't think of him as boyfriend material."

Laurel sighed. Sara was persistent. And observant. And she wasn't the only one. Even her father has been giving her grief ever since that short report about the fundraiser in the news today. "I changed my mind. And when will people stop sticking their noses in my personal life?" she demanded.

"When you'll stop lying to them."

One last glare, then Laurel turned and walked out of the gym. She was done answering questions. She didn't give a damn what everybody thought. She was seeing Adam Donner, and that was that. End of discussion.

"Laurel!"

She rolled her eyes. Of course, Sara wasn't done.

"I get it," Sara said. "He's not Oliver Queen."

"Exactly." Laurel nodded. "He's his complete opposite." Only not in the way everybody thought. "You can go ahead and tell Oliver that."

"I will." Sara sighed. "Donner is safe. He will probably never break your heart."

No, he wouldn't. He couldn't. Even if he wanted to. "Exactly. And I haven't slept with him. Not yet." At Sara's TMI expression, she elaborated. "He'll ask, trust me."

Sara cleared her throat and changed the subject, "Good job in there, by the way. I hope next time you won't hold back."

"Sure I will." It was an older sister's job to take care of the younger one. No matter how badass the younger sister was—or thought to be.

"I know." Sara snapped her fingers. "Almost forgot. We have to go out with Felicity one of these nights."

"Do we?"

"We do. She wanted to come today, make it a girls' night, but I didn't think you wanted her to witness what we do on our sisterly get-togethers."

"So you set up a date?"

Sara made a sound of confirmation. "I suggested a karaoke bar, and she already envisioned us as the _Sex and the City_ gals."

Laurel mock-shuddered. "I hated the second movie."

"At least we already have a song picked. She wants to do _I Am Woman_."

Laurel chuckled. "It's just a pity you can't hold a tune."

Sara shoved at her playfully. "I love you, too, sis."

Laurel poked her tongue out at her sister. "Let me know when you two want to hang out. I'm game. And wish everyone a pleasant evening and a good night."

Sara just grinned and gave her an innocent look.

Yeah, right. Laurel knew she was going right back to the Arrowcave to report what she's learned. Which was bubkiss, really. Pleased with herself, Laurel wiggled her fingers and slid into the waiting cab.

.

.

"Did she sleep with him?"

Felicity's fingers stumbled over her keyboard. Sara's barely made it through the door, and that's the first question he asks? And people say women are the complicated ones.

"Can I catch my breath first?" Sara asked with a smile.

"No. Did she sleep with him?" Oliver insisted.

John rolled his eyes. "I thought she went there to establish why your girl's dating him."

Oliver glared at both, John and Sara. "Yes, she did. But I want to know if they've already been intimate. Is there a problem?"

John lifted his hands in surrender. Smart man, Felicity thought. Oliver didn't look very amicable.

"Interesting," Sara said shaking her head. "She said you'd ask me that."

"She knows me well. And the answer is?"

"No."

Oliver's expression turned smug. "Then it's not serious."

Felicity couldn't be quiet any longer. "What do you mean, it's not serious? They've been dating for almost a month."

He turned to her. "I don't know why she's with him, but there must be some ulterior motive. If she were serious about him, she'd have slept with the guy already."

"Right," she said through clenched teeth. "Because if a woman sleeps with a man it means she really loves him." Of all the chauvinistic—

"Laurel does."

"Shit," Sara whispered.

"Wait," John interrupted. "Are you saying that Laurel—"

"Has only been with me and Tommy?" Oliver asked. "Yes. I was her first."

And her everything, even when he'd cheated on her. Felicity shook her head and turned back to her computer. If Laurel likened sex and intimacy with love, not feeling comfortable sharing her body with anyone, she didn't feel deeply for, then what Oliver had done in the past year, probably even on the island, and before, when he'd been in a relationship with her...

"Manwhore," she mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

Of course, he heard her. Fine, maybe it was time to say it. She stood and squared her shoulders. "I said you were a manwhore."

"Felicity," John warned, shaking his head.

"No. It has to be said. It needs to be said. You've though it, I've thought it. And I've had it."

"Is there a point, Felicity?" Oliver asked softly.

"Yes, there is. How could you?" She took a deep breath. "You say she only sleeps with someone she loves, what does that make you?"

"The man she loves," he explained.

"And what does what you've done make you? How many women have you slept with? Before the island." She poked him in the chest. "And after the island. Let me think. Helena Bertinelli, McKenna, Isabel Rochev...And those are just the ones _we_ know about."

"Felicity." John was still shaking his head.

"And then you wonder why she won't take you back. How could she? A woman who equals sex with love taking back a man who claims sex doesn't mean anything."

"I thought we cleared that up," Oliver said, his eyes tender. "After the thing with Isabel."

"The thing," she whispered.

"I told you I couldn't be with someone I care about, because of the danger I might put them in."

"How about someone you love?" she asked. "There's a distinction."

"Laurel can take care of herself, you can't."

"Me?" She blinked. Where did that come from? "Oh, my God," she gasped. "You thought—You thought that I had a thing for you?"

"It's pretty obvious, Felicity," John explained.

She felt her face warm. "No. I mean, you're good looking, and nice, and those abs are just about perfect..." She cleared her throat. Her message wasn't going across explained like that. "But no. I don't...I'm not in love with you, Oliver. I'm not even crushing on you anymore." Maybe a tiny lie, that, but those don't hurt.

As John smiled slightly, Oliver frowned. "Then what was all that about, with Isabel."

"I didn't trust her," she explained. "Which turned out to be a very good hunch. I said you deserve better than her, because you do. You also deserve better than meaningless sex and one-night stands. You deserve someone who loves you. And I meant Laurel."

"You still mean it?"

"Yes," she mumbled. "But that doesn't mean you're not a manwhore."

"My manwhoring days are over, Felicity."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

Sara burst out laughing. "She has a point there, Ollie. If Laurel can keep it in her pants, figuratively speaking, and she has been since Tommy died, why can't you?"

"I have," he insisted.

"Yeah?" John eyed him suspiciously. "Since when?"

"Since Russia." He shrugged, when all three of them gawked at him. "What Felicity said got to me. She was right. I deserve something better, but all I want is Laurel, so I've been keeping it in my pants. Mostly."

"I knew it." Felicity through her hands in the air and went back to her computer. "I knew you couldn't resist."

"Have you any idea how expensive these suits are? I need to take it out when I pee."

"Idiot!"

Felicity's laughter quickly died when an alarm sounded, and her computer screen started blinking red. "Oh, crap."

The others were by her side in a heartbeat.

"What is it?" Oliver asked.

"You got caught?" John whispered.

"Yes!" she snapped, typing furiously. "And no. I protected the point of entry and the signal origin, but I have to shut it down quickly." In three seconds, her computer screen went blank. She sighed and wiped her forehead. "That was close."

"And that was what exactly?" Sara asked.

Felicity grinned. "Let's check the data, shall we?"

Five minutes later, Felicity knew she wasn't the only one staring wide-eyed at the computer screen and the information on it. The information that's been copied on her flash drive before her hack's been detected. She's just been following some strange data streams and then—BAM!—she's stumbled upon _this_.

"Call her, Sara," Oliver urged. "She needs to know."

Sara pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed. "Hey, Laurel. It's me...No, it's not about the date with Felicity." Felicity grinned slightly at the wink Sara sent her way. She guessed their girls' night wasn't an impossibility. "Look, there's something—" Sara gasped. "You're what? No, Laurel, wait. Don't—" She cursed and looked at the screen of her phone. "She hung up."

"Why didn't you tell her?" Oliver pressed.

"Because she said she was in a hurry, that she was going out."

"Out? Jesus, with him?"

Sara nodded. "Yeah, apparently he invited her to dinner at his place."

Felicity worried her lower lip between her teeth. Laurel was going to Donner's place. Which meant Oliver's theory was shot, because they all knew how that date would probably end.

"What are you doing?" John asked Oliver, who was pulling his shirt off.

"What does it look like? I'm going after her."

"As the Arrow?"

Oliver just shrugged, donned his uniform, grabbed his bow, and left them gawking after him.

"Did he just..." Felicity began. "Did he just go to Donner's apartment?"

"It'll probably be fine," John replied.

"Uhm, guys," Sara retorted. "Oliver just went to his ex's new boyfriend's apartment. Armed."

John grabbed his keys. "I'll drive."


	19. Chapter 19

Laurel was slowly strolling through Adam Donner's apartment, looking at photos, inspecting the little knickknacks artfully arranged on the mantle and shelves. He's given her free reign to take a look and 'get acquainted' with his apartment while he went for takeout.

He'd invited her over for a work dinner—they needed to finish the closing argument for a case—and he'd offered to cook for her, but she'd suddenly gotten the craving for _Lok Lak_ and _Bok L'hong_. There was only one Cambodian restaurant in town, way over in St. James, and devil take it, they didn't deliver. So he, as the perfect gentleman, offered to go pick up dinner, with specific, written in capital letters, instructions as to what to order, leaving her alone to roam his apartment as she waited for him and the food.

She arched her eyebrow at the selection. Captain & Tenille, Yes, The Who, Genesis, Jethro Tull, Frank Zappa, Electric Light Orchestra...What was with the 70s bands? It wasn't a total loss, though. There was also Billy Joel, Lynyrd Skynyrd...And Pink Floyd's _Wish You Were Here_.

She put in the CD and searched for the title track.

"You don't have to wish anymore," a male voice intruded, "I'm here."

Laurel turned and frowned at the figure standing in the open window, the curtains billowing in the wind. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk."

She crossed her arms. "Really? I've earned a talk with the mighty Arrow without the voice filter? What an honor. I'll pass, thank you."

He moved closer, until his face was no longer in the shadows, and he was close enough she could see his face despite the hood. "I insist." His eyes raked her from head to toe. "And I must say, I love your new favorite color."

She looked down at her dark-green blouse and gritted her teeth as she realized it was the same shade of green as his vest. And she realized it only because he was standing too damn close.

"You complete me," he said with a grin.

Laurel frowned. What the hell was he doing here? And how did he get all the way up here? She walked past him, peered out the window, and noticed a contraption that before probably looked like an arrow, stuck to the glass, with a rope attached to it.

"You've gone to quite a lot of trouble to get up here, I suggest you get to quite a lot of trouble to get out as well."

He shook his head. "Not until we talk."

"You've been here for at least two minutes, you could've told me why you're here already, instead of noticing what I'm wearing."

He chuckled. "Where's your date?"

"He went out to get dinner."

"Couldn't he had it delivered?"

"No."

They were both silent until Laurel couldn't be anymore. Which has probably been his plan all along. "What do you want, Oliver?"

"I want you to get out of this apartment."

She scoffed. "As if."

He grasped her elbow. "Laurel, listen to me. You need to end things with Donner. Immediately."

She shook his hand off and glared at him. "Where do you get off? I'm not ending things with Adam just because you're jealous."

This time he grabbed both her shoulders, shook her slightly. "Yes, I'm jealous. You belong with me, not that prick. But it's not just that. He's dangerous, Laurel."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, dangerous. Oliver, next time say no to drugs."

He shook her again. "Exactly. Drugs."

She cocked her head. "You're not making any sense."

"Donner is under scrutiny by the DEA."

Crap. How did he know? "What are you talking about?"

"Felicity's been searching for dirt on Donner." He shook his head. "Don't look at me like that, I needed any leverage I could find. She's been following some strange data tags she's found and apparently tripped a digital wire tonight."

"So she was hacking because you can't admit you've been beaten—"

"I haven't been beaten. You didn't sleep with the guy yet."

"Notice I'm at his apartment tonight. He's bringing dinner. Who knows how things might evolve?"

His grip turned painful. "Are you in love with him?"

She leaned closer. "None of your business."

"It is my business if you're putting yourself in danger."

"It wouldn't be the first time, thanks to you," she snapped.

The bite of his fingers into her shoulders gentled. "I'm sorry, Laurel. About everything. And I'm sorry if I'm ruining your chance for happiness right now—"

"No, you're not."

"But if the DEA is involved, this guy could be really bad news."

"They haven't made any arrests yet, there are no warrants—"

"That you know of," he reminded.

"They're probably just following up on leads because of that episode with the Count." _Pretty flimsy, Lance_. She stepped back, and his hands dropped to his sides. "Look, Ollie. Thank you for your concern, but I'm a big girl, and I know what I'm doing. So until you have indisputable proof that he's dangerous to my health or to my heart, I'm asking you not to butt into my life again." She lifted her hand to his face, caressed his cheek. "Oliver, please, just let me go."

"I can't."

He pulled her close and captured her mouth with his for a long, deep kiss. One of those slow, drugging kisses that have always turned her knees into butter. Even after six plus years that didn't change. But before her knees could collapse under her, he ended the kiss, stepped back, and let her go. She was very proud of herself for not falling on her face.

"I love you, Laurel," he said simply.

"I know," she replied just as simply, and then he was gone. "I love you, too," she whispered.

.

.

She was thinking about that kiss, about _him_ throughout dinner, the taste of Oliver lingering in her mouth, on her tongue, overpowering the taste of food.

The closing remarks were written and rehearsed to perfection, and Adam was getting quite amorous, trailing his lips up from her neck to her mouth. Any time, now. When his lips found hers, her belly gave a roll. And a rumble. A loud one.

He pulled away and looked at her with concern. "Are you all right?" He frowned. "You look funny, Laurel."

She was probably green. "I don't feel so good," she muttered and pressed her palm to her stomach. "I'm sorry, Adam. It must've been something I ate. I better go."

He was on his feet in an instant. "I'll drive you home."

She shook her head and gave him a wobbly smile. "Oh, no. I'll take a cab." She burped indelicately. "God, I'm sorry. I probably won't come to work tomorrow."

He looked slightly disgusted. "That's all right. Take all the time you need."

"Thank you." She smiled slightly again. "And I'm so sorry. Good night, Adam."

And she hightailed it out in the hall. As soon as the elevator doors were closed, she rummaged through her bag for her antacid gum. When she walked out into the main lobby, she was feeling as good as new.

For some strange and yet unknown reason, of all the cuisines of the world, Cambodian was the worst for her digestive system. She grinned as she lifted her hand to hail a cab.

Mission accomplished.


	20. Chapter 20

It's been more than two weeks since he's last seen Laurel. Since he's left her in Donner's apartment. His friends had picked him up a block away from the apartment building, but hadn't asked any questions. And he hadn't offered any explanations. He's spent every night since in the hood, scouring the city streets.

Alone.

He didn't want company. He wanted to be alone, wanted to be left alone.

He had quite a lot of work to do. A new type of drug was plaguing the city. It was very similar to Vertigo, and if he didn't know better, he'd think the Count was back. But since the guy was dead and buried there was someone else financing the production and distribution of the drug that was yet to receive an 'official' name.

Even though he was secretly helping the police, Officer Lancemore precisely, the investigation into the new drug, that didn't prevent him from keeping an eye on Laurel. He wasn't going near her, not now when the wound was still fresh. If he saw her and Donner together he was liable to do something stupid, but that didn't mean he couldn't keep an eye on her from afar by trying to figure out just why the DEA had its feelers out for Donner. What were they looking for? Were they just covering their bases with Donner having been in close proximity to the Count? Or was there something more going on?

It was tough, or so Felicity kept telling him, to try to figure that out without alerting anyone to what they were doing. She hadn't gotten caught yet, but she also hadn't managed to find out what the DEA was doing investigating Donner either. Again, if they were even investigating him.

He was slowly driving himself insane with wanting to know whether Donner was really bad news, or he just wanted him to be, with wondering about Laurel's relationship with the man, with guessing just what had happened when he'd left her that night. Not that he had much to guess, he could imagine very well.

Yes, he was driving himself insane, and the only way not to think about his problems was to concentrate on other problems. And that's what prompted his visit to Iron Heights prison and the matriarch of the Queen family, his mother Moira.

Unfortunately, the diversion didn't work. She took one look at him and immediately asked him what was wrong. And, instead of convincing her to talk about her, her trial, the weather, or anything else, no matter how idiotic or banal, he'd told her everything. Not _everything_-everything, like him being the Arrow and that sort of thing, but he'd told her everything about Laurel and his failed attempts at getting her back.

"Honey," Moira looked at him with sad eyes and reached over the table to grasp his fingers. "I'm so sorry, but nothing is ever lost, until there's someone willing to fight for it."

He shook his head. "Mom, she asked me to let her go."

"Do you love her?"

Of course, he did. More than anything. "Yes."

"Then everybody would tell you to let her go. Let her be happy. Even if it's with someone else."

"What?" Was she really suggesting he let Laurel go? Let her out of his life? Maybe if it was happening to someone else he'd also be of the same opinion. But this wasn't someone else. This was him. And Laurel. Maybe he should let her go, let her move on with her life, be happy with someone else. He just couldn't.

Moira smiled. "But in my opinion, you'd be a fool to. I haven't been around much lately, but what I saw when you two were here together, even on opposing sides, I saw a woman still very much in love with you." She squeezed his fingers. "I told her once that I liked how you were when you were with her. I've seen that young man more often since you've returned from the island, but I've seen him every time you're near her. She's the one, isn't she?"

He smiled, his heart easing. "I'd like to think so."

She frowned. "Then what are you doing moping around? Make her see what she's missing. Make her see you're the one she should be with. Don't let her go. Not until there's any hope left."

Oliver grinned. "Thank you, mom."

"You're welcome. I love you, Oliver."

"I love you, too."

.

.

She'd known she'd get the invitation to Oliver Queen's impromptu party at his company's headquarters. She'd planned accordingly. She'd scheduled an appointment at the spa, with a full-body massage, manicure, pedicure, and facial. She'd scheduled a short appointment with her hair designer, not that she needed it, but a woman needed to be prepared. She'd taken time choosing the right dress and ended up buying a sleeveless, A-line lace macramé dress with a boat neckline, and an above the knee hem. In green. Emerald green.

She was feeling fresh, relaxed, sexy, and knew she looked a knockout in the dress. And the shoes. She had no idea why—okay, she did—she'd gone to such trouble for this party, especially since she was attending it solo. Not that she could not have gotten a date, she just didn't feel like it. There was only one man she would accept as her date. The host. Unfortunately that wasn't an option.

Then a knock sounded on her front door, and she clenched her teeth as she felt her forehead crease into a frown. Please, don't let it be him. But with her luck—

It was Adam Donner.

He's been nothing but professional since that evening when she'd gotten sick after dinner, keeping things between them pretty impersonal. Which worked very well for her. And now he was here.

"Adam," she said a little breathlessly, her mind running in fifth gear. "What a surprise. What are you doing here?"

He smiled, his eyes raking her from head to toe. And back. "You're going to Queen's party, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, I thought we might go together. You look beautiful."

She forced herself to blush. "Thank you. Together, you say?"

He shrugged. "We'll get a chance to talk. Things were left rather...After that dinner."

Right. 'Rather'.

"I want to see where things between us could lead, Laurel." He brushed his fingers down her arm. "I'm very interested in seeing what could be between us."

She grabbed her purse and checked her phone. There was a text message received fifteen minutes ago. No wonder he was here. She wanted to curse, but smiled instead. "Well, Adam. Let's see how this evening goes, shall we?"

.

.

Most of the time men either 'thought' with their dicks or their egos. Oliver, being a man, knew all about that. Unfortunately, that adage proved right the night of his party. The party that, thanks to his mother's advice, he, Thea, and Felicity had quickly put together. His ego reared its stupid head as soon as Laurel walked into the lobby of Queen Consolidated with her hand tucked into the crook of Adam Donner's elbow.

It all pretty much went downhill after that.


	21. Chapter 21

Laurel fought a smile as she entered the main lobby of Queen Consolidated and noticed the company's CEO curl his arm around his secretary's slender back and pull her to him. She almost laughed at the look Felicity shot him. An utterly WTF look coupled with a deep blush that belied her protestations about what exactly she felt about her boss. And clearly projected the embrace and the intimacy was all just a ruse on Oliver's part. A cock-up that had everything to do with his bruised ego. Idiot.

And as usual, the idiot never thought about how his decisions and his actions might affect those involved in his decisions and actions. Sometimes they were harmless, sometimes they might seem harmless yet pack quite a punch. In this case, and even before, as he'd turned Felicity into his personal assistant, Oliver probably never stopped and thought about what this entire affair might mean for Felicity, her position within the company, her reputation...Her heart.

There were already rumors, not overly loud, not overly persistent, but there were rumors that there was more between the two than a strictly professional relationship. Those rumors have spread widely enough to reach Laurel's ears. Some of them have reached her due to her past relationship with Oliver, some have reached her simply because they have spread outside the company. And now, with that blatant display of possessiveness on his part—which, for someone who knew him, looked as bogus as it indeed was—the rumors would just get louder, wider, and 'stickier'.

She rolled her eyes as he met her gaze, trying to convey her censure, but the idiot male just grinned, proving his misinterpretation of her gesture as jealousy. She wasn't jealous. She couldn't be jealous of something fake. She rolled her eyes again and turned away, back to her unexpected—and unwelcome—date, utterly aware of her phone, heavy and silent, tucked into her purse. It was good knowing she wasn't cut off completely.

The guests were mingling and Donner took it as a perfect opportunity for some more networking, tugging her along, introducing her to the people he knew, expecting introductions to those she did. She played along, the smile she perfected years ago—not too fake, not too bright, but just right—firmly in place, her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. She was the image of the perfect arm candy, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect possible future Mrs. Adam Donner. However, she didn't think the perfect girlfriend would keep a certain man, someone other than her date, constantly in her peripheral vision.

She reasoned it was only to keep an eye on Oliver, lest he did something stupid like ruin Felicity's reputation even more than he's already done. Unfortunately, her heart disagreed with her reasoning. She kept an eye on him because...Just because. Because he drew her in like a magnet, like a moth to a flame, because she couldn't help it but look at him, drool a little, and think of if-onlys and what-ifs. However, since that way lay disaster and more heartbreak that she could bear, she decided to go with the reasonable explanation her mind and common sense provided. Keep an eye on him for Felicity's sake.

She closed her eyes briefly as the sly whispers all around her rose in volume when Oliver pulled Felicity into his arms and started swaying with her to the soft, slow music that suddenly filled the lobby. She tightened her grip on Donner's arm and gritted her teeth as she brought her heart rate and breath under control.

"Well, they finally acknowledged it in public," Donner whispered.

"Acknowledged what?"

"Come on, Laurel," he insisted. "Everybody's talking about the two of them. Just look at them."

She did and she didn't see what apparently everybody else did. She saw a man determined to cure his heartache—or protect his bruised ego, depending on the perspective of the observer—by dancing with the only available woman who wouldn't misinterpret his gesture. She saw a woman blushing partly because of her crush, but mostly with indignation toward her moronic employer...And she saw a man hovering at the edge of the crowd, watching the dancing pair with sad eyes as if he's just realized something monumental. _Well, well, well._

Laurel was sympathetic. It usually happened like that. Out of the blue.

"Excuse me," she murmured and walked to where John Diggle stood. Silent and alone, his eyes on his two friends.

His face went blank as he saw her approach, and she grinned at him. "Hey, John."

"Laurel."

"Lose the doom and gloom look. It's so last season." When he just looked at her, her grin widened. "Dance with me."

"Why?"

"I just feel like dancing." She took his hand. "Come on."

"You can dance with Donner."

"I could." She pulled him away from the crowd, placed his hands on her hips, and lifted her own onto his shoulders. "But I don't want to."

They swayed for a few moments and the stink-eye Oliver kept giving Diggle didn't go unnoticed. It was a rather sexy stink-eye. "Will you tell her?"

John frowned down at her. "Tell who?"

"Felicity."

"Tell her what?"

"That you have feelings for her."

He missed a step. Well, more like lost his balance for a bit, since there wasn't much stepping involved. "What are you talking about?"

She smiled softly. "It hit you when they started dancing." She shook her head when he opened his mouth. "The way you looked at her was a dead giveaway, John. You should've seen your face."

He pressed his lips together and glared at her. "I really have no idea what you're talking about." He looked over his shoulder. "And I don't appreciate being used in whatever game you and Oliver are playing."

"I have no idea what Oliver is doing. Okay," she corrected, "I do, but I'm not playing any games. I just wanted to talk to you, and I'm sorry if I've—"

"What is it?" he asked, but she ignored him. She was looking at Donner who's pulled his phone out of his pocket. What he read on the screen must not have been good, because he looked a little green and a lot jittery.

"Excuse me," she said quickly, and pulled Diggle around, so she was partly hidden behind. She grabbed her phone and dialed the number that had sent her the last text. "Something happened," she whispered when the call was answered.

_"ETA 5 minutes,"_ was the reply.

Great. They might not have five minutes. "Well, John," she said breezily. "Thanks for the dance. And think about the thing I mentioned which you claim to know nothing about." She patted his shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me." And she left him there, focusing her attention completely on Adam Donner.

The evening was about to get rather interesting.


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: I never liked the guy._

* * *

"What are you doing?" Felicity hissed.

"Hmm?" Oliver looked down at her distractedly. "Dancing."

She glared. "Wrong answer. You're making a mess of everything, including my reputation that's already shaky in this damn company." She wriggled. "Let me go."

"What?" Preoccupied with trying to figure out just why Laurel would dance with Diggle and what could the two possibly have to talk about that would bring such a scowl on his friend's face, he finally noticed Felicity was trying to get away. Her statement regarding her reputation registered a few seconds later. "Has anyone said anything to you?"

If they had, they were fired. And he didn't care if he sounded like Donald Trump.

"Let. Me. Go."

She accompanied her request with a not so gentle stomping on his foot and Oliver immediately complied. "Sorry. Ouch."

She glared but it somehow lacked conviction. "No one said anything, not to my face. But I'm not stupid. I have eyes." She nodded toward where Laurel has rejoined Donner. "Don't worry about me, though. Go over there. I can create a distraction, you know, ditzy blonde, and you can whisk her away."

"She obviously doesn't want to be whisked. Away or anywhere else that doesn't involve Donner's presence."

She made a noncommittal sound and looked at the pair with her head cocked. "It doesn't seem like she truly wants to be there by his side, don't you think?"

Not truly wanting to be by Donner's side? Laurel was hanging all over the guy, her smile dazzling, her eyes pleading. It looked like he wanted to leave, but she tried to make him stay a little longer. Why? Why did she want to stay longer? Was it to rub it in his face? To make him see how happy she was with the new man in her life? Did she want him to see what he didn't have? He knew very well that he was the loser in this tableau. Donner had the girl. Donner had Laurel. What did Oliver have? He didn't have shit. Except for a bruised ego and a broken heart.

He spat a soft curse. He was done with this crap. He was skipping the party. Sure, it was his party, but he simply wasn't in the mood. Not after everything that happened. He turned on his heel and was headed for the elevators when a collective gasp filled the lobby.

"Oliver!"

The plea in Felicity's voice made him turn. He frowned as two men in dark suits positioned themselves on either side of Donner while Laurel surreptitiously took a few steps back. It was the possibility of Laurel ending up hurt, ending up in the path of a stray bullet, that made him move, made him walk back to the center of the lobby.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" he asked.

"We have it covered, Mr. Queen," someone replied. Another man in a dark suit stepped forward, away from the milling guests. "No need to get involved."

Oliver gritted his teeth. He hated it when people told him not to get involved. Especially when the situation looked like it needed someone else to get involved. At least to get Laurel away. "This is my party," he reminded his obviously non-invited guests.

"And you will all be able to get back to it as soon as we're done."

"What exactly are you _doing_?" Oliver wanted to know.

"Arresting Mr. Donner here."

Oliver looked at Laurel, but she kept her eyes on Donner and the three men.

Donner laughed. "What for?"

"Drug trafficking, drug distribution, conspiracy to trafficking of drugs, conspiracy to distribution of drugs—"

Donner laughed again. "You're insane."

"—extortion, kidnapping, conspiracy to murder, and murder," the man finished calmly. "Cuff him, Jones."

One of the other two men took a step closer to Donner who flinched back. "How dare you? You can't arrest me."

"This little badge says I can." The man flashed his ID.

Oliver cursed softly again as he saw the acronym on the credentials. DEA. He once again tried to catch Laurel's gaze, but she steadfastly looked at Donner and the DEA agents.

Donner was shaking his head. "Do you know who I am?"

"I know very well who you are," the DEA agent snarled. "You're a lousy piece of shit hiding behind a polished façade and your position in society. And I couldn't care less. Jones!"

"I'll sue you for everything you own," Donner vowed. "You have no idea how many laws you're breaking right now."

The DEA agent smirked. "I'm not breaking any, Mr. Donner. I'm doing this so much by the book, if you'd cut me I'd bleed ink. Anything so you don't skip on a technicality."

Donner squirmed as his wrists were cuffed behind his back. "Here's a technicality, Mr. Whoeveryouare. You're required to read me my rights."

"No, I'm not. I'm not planning on interrogating you. I'm not planning on letting you talk, period. I have your men in custody. And I have read _them_ their rights. I bet they'll be more than willing to talk. And I have enough proof to put you behind bars for good, even if they don't."

"Proof? What proof?"

They had proof? They had proof?! Was that enough to convince her he'd been right when he warned her about Donner? Oliver once more gazed at Laurel. She looked so serene, so calm, as if she didn't care about the news.

The DEA agent shrugged. "Phone conversations, e-mails, video conference recordings."

Donner paled significantly. "You'd need a warrant for that."

"I have it. Anything else?"

"Yes. You're bluffing. I would've heard about a warrant."

"Not if we kept it super hush-hush. I'm not bluffing, Mr. Donner. We had your apartment under surveillance, despite all your protective measures."

Donner was shaking his head, squirming against the handcuffs. "You _are_ bluffing. No one can get inside my apartment that I don't know or pre-approve."

"Exactly."

Donner slowly turned to Laurel and his face transformed into a grimace of hatred. "You bitch," he spat.

As Oliver watched, she cocked her head, arched an eyebrow, and a corner of her lips curled upward. She knew. She'd known from the start. The DEA had used her as a mole.

Donner looked disgusted. "I can't believe you slept with me to bug my apartment."

Jesus. Oliver felt a little sick himself.

Laurel's laughter filled the lobby. "Please, you should be so lucky."

"It's your word against mine," Donner said with a sly smile.

She shook her head. "No, it's your word against video footage. You've been living in Big Brother's house, and you didn't even know it."

"And Ms Lance isn't on any recording," the DEA agent supplied.

"You're just saying that so you don't have to admit she prostituted herself for you."

"Watch it, Adam," Laurel warned sweetly, "or I might throw in charges of defamation as well."

"And I'll be more than happy to testify." The DEA agent rolled his eyes. "Jones, get him out of here before I introduce him to my fist. He's contaminated this air long enough."

"With pleasure, sir," the one called Jones replied and dragged a sputtering and indignant Adam Donner out of Queen Consolidated.

Oliver felt someone watching him and looked away from the door to find Laurel's gaze steady on him. She was smiling slightly as if saying 'see, idiot, I always know what I'm doing'. Compared to him. Damn it, he _was_ an idiot. He should've known. He should've realized the truth. He _knew_ her. Her reaction to learning about the DEA investigating Donner hadn't been 'normal'. She hadn't even blinked. That should've made him see the truth, or at least part of it. Instead, he'd acted like the jealous idiot she'd accused him of being.

She'd also used her in-hindsight-non-existant relationship with Adam Donner to keep him at arms' length, to keep him from pursuing her. And it had worked. He gritted his teeth. Boy had it worked. He'd fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

As if reading his mind her smile widened and a twinkle appeared in her eyes. He grinned back. Oh, the game was back on.

She must have realized she's issued another challenge, because she shook her head and quickly looked away. "Agent Brody."

The lead DEA agent nodded. "Ms Lance, thank you for everything you've done. We might need to contact you again."

"You have my number."

"I do. Is there anything else I could do for you before we go?"

"I need a ride home."

"No problem."

And before Oliver could say or do anything besides stand there, grinning like a fool, yet another man took her away from him.


	23. Chapter 23

"Do you have anything else up your sleeve?"

Laurel almost jumped out of her skin at the voice that greeted her as soon as she emerged from her bathroom. She clutched the towel closer to her chest and glared at the figure in green standing in front of her bedroom window. Her open bedroom window.

"How did you get in here?"

He smirked. "You might consider changing the latches. They won't keep anybody out."

She scowled. Then what has kept him from getting inside her apartment sooner?

A lift of his shoulders. "I gave you some space."

The bastard has lulled her into a false sense of security. That's what he's done. Letting her think the Arrow couldn't get in if she kept all her windows tightly closed and the curtains drawn.

"What has changed?" she inquired.

"A lot."

He took a step closer into the pool of light cast by the lamp on her bedside table and she saw he kept the hood down. For the first time since she's revealed she knew his secret, he let the hood down when around her.

"I didn't appreciate you making me think there was something between Donner and you."

He took another step closer, but she held her ground. She wore only a flimsy towel, while he was completely dressed, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of moving back.

It wasn't her fault he'd thought the worst. Shows how much he knew her. When the DEA had approached her with their plan of using her to help them get close enough to Donner to gather sufficient proof against him, she hadn't thought about what the whole sham of pretending to have fallen for Donner might seem to others. She'd only seen the possibility of putting another criminal—the worst kind, one of those who pretended to be the good guys—behind bars. She hadn't meant to use the ruse to push Oliver away. She had had to, because his insistence, his pursuit was ruining everything. She had to convince Donner she was into him. And Oliver was ruining her act.

"You thought what you wanted to think, Oliver," she reminded him.

"True," he acknowledged. "But you didn't correct me."

"Should I have?"

He grinned. "Yes."

"Wrong."

"You asked me and I told you my point of view."

She rolled her eyes. "Really, you're here to debate rhetoric?"

"Nope." His eyes raked her from head to toe and back. "I'm here to talk about us."

She scoffed. "Just give it a rest, Oliver. There's no us."

"So you keep telling me." He sighed. "But, you see, there's a difference between what you're saying and what's in your eyes."

"Oh, God," she groaned. "Not the rom-com cliché. Your lips tell me you hate me," she said in a deeper voice, "but your eyes tell a whole different story."

He shook his head. "You're not saying that you hate me, you're just saying that there is no us and there never will be again."

"Exactly. Now, please, tell me what my eyes say."

"That you love me. That I'm your world. You are mine. Do you know that?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Right now your eyes also tell me that you're dying to be in my arms again," he continued and moved closer, so close, her towel-covered breasts brushed against his chest with every breath. "That you want me to pull you close and kiss you senseless. That you want me to pull that towel off and make love to you in your new bed. On your new green sheets."

She swallowed loudly and released a long string of mental curses. Damn the man for being able to read her so well. Because that was exactly what she wanted him to do. Grab her, kiss her, make slow and passionate love to her, make her forget the reasons why she didn't want to let him back into her heart again.

Instead of confirming that he was right, she chuckled. "Wow, Oliver. You really should update your translating software. Maybe Felicity could help with that."

He brushed his gloved fingers down her arm and goose bumps erupted in their wake.

"Felicity has nothing to do with this. With us. It's just me and you. And I know you love me. I know you want me."

"Yes," she breathed. She leaned her chest against his. "I do."

It was his turn to swallow, and she almost grinned.

"I want you..."

He whispered her name with such longing she almost gave in. Almost.

"...to leave," she finished.

He groaned and looked at her with exasperation. "Why the hell do you have to be so stubborn? I love you. You love me. I trust you. God, I trust you with my life, with my heart, with everything. Why won't you let me in?" he insisted. "Why won't you let us be happy? We both deserve it. We both need it. We've waited a long time for this. And now, that's within our grasp, you pull back. Over and over again. Why, Laurel?"

"My reasons are my own."

"Laurel."

She sighed. "Geez, Oliver. I'm sorry, but I don't speak moron, so English will have to do. I don't want anything to do with you anymore. At least not romantically, if I can classify what used to be between us as romance. Casual observers might disagree. We can try to be friends, try being the operative word here, because there's too much history. But that's it. I don't know what you supposedly read in my eyes, but you got it all wrong."

He hung his head and she just wanted to hug him. Yet she willed her arms to stay where they were and her lips to stay silent.

"Fine," he finally said.

"What?" Did he mean it? Was he giving up? And wasn't that what she wanted him to do? Yes. No. Not really. _Sheesh, Lance, make up your mind!_

"Fine," he repeated and lifted his head. The look in his eyes didn't speak of someone who's given up. "You want me to stay away? You want me to leave you alone? Fine." He leaned closer, stared into her eyes. "Keep on wanting. Keep on wishing. Keep on hoping. Because the only way that'll happen is if I'm dead."

A chill rushed up her spine. Dead is exactly what she didn't want him to be. "Oliver," she whispered.

"I wanted to die on that island. I told you this before, remember?"

She nodded.

"But I also told you there was something I wanted more. You. It was because of you that I survived. It was your photo, the one you gave me at the marina, that kept me going."

She gasped and he smiled grimly.

"You didn't know that, did you? Yeah, your photo." He reached inside his vest and pulled out a rectangular object. It was the photo she'd given him that day. "It's a little, well, a lot, worse for wear, but it survived. And so did I. And I made myself a promise that if I returned, I'd do right by you."

She blinked against the tears. "That would mean taking into consideration my wishes."

"True." He nodded and tucked the photo back inside his vest. "If you told the truth about those wishes. Until then...I'll wait."

He turned away and she relaxed, but then he turned back, curled one arm around her back and the other hand around the back of her neck, and pulled her to him. He captured her lips with his own and slid his tongue into her mouth.

The kiss was slow, deep, long as their tongues slid warm and wet against one another. He took his time exploring her mouth, his fingers massaging her neck and back. Her knees turned to jelly and she had no choice but to place her hands onto his shoulders for support. She couldn't breathe, but she didn't care. She simply felt. His tongue against hers, his teeth nibbling on her lips, his breath mingling with hers, his hands on her body, his chest against hers.

She was about to crawl up his body as if it was a ladder, when he lifted his head.

"Until next time," he said, grabbed his bow and disappeared out her window, leaving her alone to collapse onto her bed, trembling from head to toe.


	24. Chapter 24

"Really, Laurel? Fire escape? _Again_."

Doris shook her head as Laurel kicked off her pumps and pulled a pair of Chuck Taylors out of her desk drawer.

Laurel shrugged. "I'm meeting a friend for lunch."

"And you need to use the fire escape to get out of here?"

Yes, she did. Because she had no intention of bumping oh-so accidentally into Oliver on her way out. And bump into him she would. And it wouldn't be accidentally. That has been his MO lately. No more subterfuge, no more dedicating songs over the radio, no more cute messages over the phone, no more flowers—okay, he still sent flowers, but only to her home. Nope, he was a lot more open about his intentions nowadays. Laying in wait for her outside her apartment building to walk her to work, laying in wait for her outside the DA's office to walk her home or take her to lunch. Constantly taking her hand when they were together, hugging her, touching her, kissing her cheek, the top of her head...

He was acting like they were a couple again. A couple that didn't kiss on the mouth in public or had sex, that is. However, people didn't know that. And speculation has started flowing yet again. They were in the morning news, they were on the radio gossip news, in the gossip column in the Sentinel, they were on blogs...Their pictures, taken by common passersby observing his antics, women who gushed how romantic he was, how sweet, how lucky she was to have the love and devotion of such a man, yadda-yadda-yadda, were plastered everywhere. That Aisling or whatever her name was that had written that romance column in the Sentinel last month had written a sequel to that column, taking her and Oliver as a living example of what she'd written about. She'd even speculated that O that had been dedicating songs over the radio was Oliver—lucky guess—and that he'd stopped only because the 'love of his life', namely Laurel, according to Aisling—another lucky guess—has forgiven him or whatever and they were together again.

Laurel had constant headaches because of the whole situation—the speculation, the rumors, and Oliver. So she's devised a cunning plan for having quiet lunches all by her lonesome. The fire escape became her escape route. And that meant keeping a pair of All Stars in her drawer. She'd probably break her neck if she attempted to scale the back of the building in her stilettos.

Today her plan B, namely the fire escape exit, was coming in very handy. She was meeting Adam Bachman for lunch—he called her earlier, telling her he had some important news that couldn't be shared over the phone and couldn't wait until later—and she needed to do it solo, without any extra guests. Because knowing Oliver he'd probably demand to be told how she knew Adam, how well, how long, and all the whys. It was personal, and it was none of his business.

Shaking her head, she changed her footwear, winked at Doris, and left the office in the direction of the back of the building. Just a quick trip down the fire escape and she was ready for lunch.

.

.

"_Shalom_, Dinah," Adam Bachman greeted her and kissed her on both cheeks. "_Ma shlomech?_"

She smiled. "I'm fine. How are you?"

"I am well and you are lying." He peered at her closely. "You do not look fine. Another headache?"

She'd complained to him about the incessant pressure behind her eyes she's been experiencing for the past few days. She'd also told him not to worry, that it was all because of the stress—who wouldn't be stressed with Oliver Queen following them around like a persistent puppy—but he chose to worry nevertheless. She loved him for it.

"I'll be fine in a minute." She nodded toward the stall under the trees in the park that was their favorite spot to grab a bite. "As soon as Aziz fixes me up."

Adam grinned. "_Bourekas_ for you? Cheese?"

She nodded. "Yeah, no seeds, please."

"Coming right up." He waved toward the picnic table nearby. "Take a seat." He took two steps toward Aziz's stand, but stopped and looked back at her with a frown.

"What is it?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing. Food first."

Ten minutes later her pot-cheese _bourekas_—she didn't like the very salty ones, so Aziz made a special batch just for her—got lodged in her throat as Adam advised her to call her friends.

"What?" she mumbled, her mouth still full of phyllo dough and crumbly cheese. "Why?"

"Because this does not concern just you."

She took a sip of yogurt and swallowed. "Okay, I'll call Sara."

Adam looked at her sternly. "Call Oliver as well."

"Damn it, Adam," she groused. "I actually managed to evade him for a quiet lunch, and now you're telling me I should invite him to join us?"

He just looked at her and she felt herself go first warm knowing she was being silently berated, then cold and pale at the implications his news might have. On Sara, on Oliver, on anyone who chose to stand between Sara and the League. She felt appropriately chastised. This was no time or place to throw tantrums, not when her sister's safety was at stake.

"_B'seder_," she said, wiped her fingers, and fished her phone out of her purse.

"Good girl."

.

.

Oliver closed the car door and frowned at Sara waiting at the curb. "What are you doing here?"

"Laurel called me."

Nice. He'd received only a short text to meet her at the waterfront park to talk about the League. He'd texted back his offer to give her a ride, to which she'd replied that she was already there. He really hoped she wasn't using the fire escape to get out of the DA's building without encountering him. That would mean her scaling multiple storeys in high heels. Which spelled danger. And thinking about Laurel and danger in the same context gave him the hives.

"What are Felicity and Diggle doing here?" Sara asked.

They were a team. If there was trouble brewing on the horizon, if the League was once more in the city, they'd need all the help they could get. And Diggle and Felicity were it. They might even involve Quentin Lance, although that particular point will have to be thought over and discussed thoroughly.

"They're with me," he explained.

"So drop it," Sara finished the unspoken thought. "Understood." She pointed toward a picnic table set under a tree close to a food vendor. "She's over there. Shall we?"

_She_ wasn't alone. _She_ was sitting at the table, obviously having lunch, with the man in the barn gym. She had her back to them, so it was the man who spotted them first, alerted her to their presence. As Oliver watched, she seemed to square her shoulders, before she got up. He arched an eyebrow at the sight of her in her dark business suit and All Stars on her feet. Well, at least she wasn't scaling the fire escape in heels.

"Hey," she greeted. "This is Adam Bachman. Adam, the gang. The _entire_ gang."

Oliver smirked at the accusing look she shot him. Yes, he brought Felicity and Diggle along. So what? He turned to Adam Bachman. "Hi. Oliver Queen."

As they shook hands, Oliver quickly assessed the man. He looked pretty average, probably in early to mid-fifties. Average build, average height, tanned skin, brown eyes, brown hair with a fair amount of grey at the temples. He didn't look like someone adept at Krav Maga, but looks could be deceiving. He knew that very well.

"It is nice to finally meet you, Oliver," Bachman said with an accent Oliver couldn't place. "I have heard much about you."

"_Shtok!_" Laurel hissed and Bachman grinned.

"What was that?" Oliver asked.

"She told me to shut up," Bachman provided, since Laurel was mulishly quiet.

"In what language?"

"Hebrew."

Israeli. That explained Krav Maga. And the average look. IDF usually recruited people who could blend in.

"You speak Hebrew?" he asked Laurel.

"What? You think you're the only one allowed to speak multiple languages?"

"Dinah," Bachman said soothingly.

"_Slicha_."

"Dinah?" Oliver asked. The guy called her by her first name? "He calls you Dinah?"

"That is her name, is it not?" Bachman said with a smile.

"And _she _is still hungry," Laurel responded and walked back to the vendor.

Bachman chuckled and nodded at Diggle. "Lieutenant."

"Jesus." Diggle shook his head. "It _is_ you."

"You know him?" Felicity asked and then looked at the Israeli. "I'm Felicity."

Bachman smiled. "Yes, the IT genius. A pleasure to meet you. And yes, Lieutenant Diggle and I served on a joined mission a long time ago."

Laurel was back with a paper plate filled with some sort of pastry. "Okay, dig in if you want. And Adam can bring us up to date with the whole League thing."

"So," Oliver started after taking a bite of the pastry—which turned out to be delicious, "is the League back in town?"

"If they are not, they soon will be," Bachman replied.

Oliver frowned. Here was a man of few words. It looked like he waited for someone to ask before he said anything. He was either building suspense—which Oliver doubted, given the man's background—or the news was so bad he'd rather postpone telling them.

"What did your contact find out?" Laurel asked.

"They're coming for me," Sara supplied and caught her sister's eye. "We knew they would eventually."

"No," Bachman said, looking at Laurel, "they are coming for you."


	25. Chapter 25

"What?!" Laurel exclaimed and felt Oliver's arm around her shoulders as he echoed her surprised question and pulled her closer to the protection of his body. She contemplated pushing him away, purely on a principle, but thought better of it.

After a bombshell like the one Adam's just dropped, Oliver's protective gesture, the fury, or was it fear, shaking his frame, were comforting. For a few heartbeats she enjoyed that comfort, her skin and heart warming at his protectiveness. He's always been protective of her, even his lying about his alter-ego after he's come back from the island, his keeping her at arms' length when he thought she didn't know, had been solely for her protection. She understood that. She probably would've done the same if their roles were reversed.

It was also that inane protectiveness of his that was at the root of her unwillingness to let him back into her heart, her life again. However, this was neither the time nor the place to think about any of that. This was the time and place to learn everything she could about why the League of Assassins was gunning for her and what were her options.

So she shook Oliver's arm off and scooted a little away from him on the bench. She heard him curse under his breath, but she just glared at him and shook her head.

"Please, explain," she prompted, looking at Adam. "What would the League of Assassins want with me?"

"They'll go through you to get to me," Sara said dejectedly. "I'm sorry. I should've left, but I truly believed they'd leave you and our family, alone."

Laurel leaned over the picnic table to grasp Sara's fingers. "Don't worry. It's not your fault."

"It is not," Adam agreed. "This has nothing to do with you," he told Sara. "There is a contract on Dinah's head."

"What?!" She might sound repetitive, but that was all she could get out. Adam should really stop doling out information in parts and just get it all out in the open. Before someone did something idiotic like start a fight. Because there was much gnashing of teeth and glowering going on around their picnic table.

"What is this?" Oliver snarled. "A prime-time show? Do we really need so many installments? Just spit it out, man."

Adam grinned at her. "I like him. Hates to beat around the bush."

Laurel rolled her eyes. Trust Adam Bachman to put people to whatever test he's devised even in the middle of a crisis.

"I'm so glad you approve," Oliver said sweetly. "Now would you mind telling us everything you know?"

Adam became serious in an instant. "As I said, there is a contract on Dinah's head."

"Who put it out?"

"Adam Donner?"

Laurel felt her jaw drop open. "Donner? Donner put a hit on me? Are we in a movie or something?"

Oliver bumped her shoulder with his. "Don't copy my references."

She pushed him away. "Shut up and pay attention."

"I _am_ paying attention."

"Why would he contact the League of Assassins?" Felicity asked, lifting her gaze off the computer screen that was slowly filling with information. Trust Felicity Smoak to be thorough when it came to making notes.

"_How_ would he contact the League of Assassins?" Diggle added. "I don't think you can find them in the phonebook."

"And I don't think the DEA would allow someone to make that particular phone call," Oliver supplied. "At least agent Brody didn't strike me as that sort of guy."

"He isn't," Laurel confirmed.

Adam shrugged. "My source is a little vague as to how one goes around contacting the League of Assassins—"

"They find you," Sara supplied softly.

"That is what I thought," Adam stated, "but somehow Donner found them, or he has good contacts. For now, the how is not important. It is the why, but I think I figured it out."

"Statement," Oliver declared.

"Yeah," Diggle agreed. "His arrest has been pretty public and he wants to make a statement."

"A bold one," Adam interjected. "He wants to make an example out of Dinah."

"Fuck with Adam Donner and we'll sic the League of Assassins on you."

"I still think he could've used someone more local," Laurel huffed. "The statement would still be made."

Oliver glared at her. "I'm so glad you think someone hiring people to kill you is such a trivial matter."

"I was just stating the obvious."

"Don't," he bit out between clenched teeth. "Just don't."

"The League can make whatever statement Donner is making even bigger," Sara said, staring down at her clasped hands. "They can make a real production out of a kill. But I still think this has to do with me."

"Sara."

"What if the League was the one to make first contact? Get two birds with one stone."

Adam shrugged. "It is possible. I guess we shall never know. But we have to concentrate on what is important right now."

"Exactly," Oliver said, "how to protect Laurel."

She bristled. "What makes you think I need protecting?"

"Hello?" Felicity stared at her wide-eyed. "Haven't you been keeping attention? Hired killers are after you."

"Yes," Laurel conceded. "But I'm also quite capable of taking care of myself. Beside hand-to-hand, my gun cabinet is pretty well stocked, and I can handle an occasional knife or sword. Don't ask."

"That might stop one, maybe two attackers," Oliver admonished. "What if there are more? Confidence is good, cockiness isn't."

"I'm not cocky, Oliver," she retaliated. "I know what I'm capable of."

"Because he taught you?" Oliver glared at Adam. "The big bad commando. I'm sorry, but no one is invincible. Not even you."

It was her turn to glare. "You don't trust me to take care of myself?"

"No, I know you can take care of yourself. I'm just saying you don't have to do it alone."

"I know that." She rolled her eyes. "Jesus. You think I'm stupid?"

"But you said you don't need protecting?" Felicity reminded her.

"I don't need protection as in keeping me wrapped up in cotton. I _can_ and _will_ take care of myself. You don't _need_ to protect me." She met Sara's eyes across the table. "This is my fight. Let me fight it."

"You won't do it alone," Oliver insisted.

She put her hand on his arm. "I know. I know you'll be there, keeping an eye on me, shadowing me, no matter what I say or do."

And that was the problem.

"Exactly," he confirmed. "Now, let's see what you're made of."


	26. Chapter 26

John didn't get it. He simply didn't get it. Call him stupid, call him an idiot, but he simply didn't see the point of this test. Or exercise. Or demonstration. Or whatever Oliver called it. Laurel Lance had the freaking League of Assassins gunning for her—they were probably already in the city—and what does Oliver do? He challenges her to a fight.

_"Let's see what you're made of,"_ he'd said and she'd accepted.

Not readily, but she had. After a string of poorly thought-out reasons Oliver has spouted. If anyone had asked John for his opinion, he would've said it was pure bullshit—that opinion hasn't changed—but no one had deigned to ask, so he'd kept it shut.

And now here they were, the entire congregation, in this private gym underneath the more public one, owned by a friend of Bachman's—John wasn't asking that one either—ready to witness a hand-to-hand combat between former lovers Oliver Queen and Laurel Lance. A fight, John suspected, both would use as a means to get off, to release some pent-up tension, some UST—unrequited sexual tension as Felicity would put it, because they couldn't do it otherwise. Mostly due to Laurel's stubbornness. Or whatever her problem was.

John was all about demonstrating and polishing one's abilities, especially with fanatical killers breathing down your neck, but he didn't need to see this particular demonstration. He knew what Laurel was capable of. He knew Bachman, knew what the man was made of, had seen the man in action. And if he'd transferred at least a portion of what he knew to Laurel...Well, John wouldn't want to be the one to face her in the ring, and even less in a real life-or-death situation.

Oliver also knew what she was capable of. He'd told him and Felicity about what he'd seen that day he'd followed her. And that had been mere practice. And with Oliver being aware of this particular skill of Laurel's, proved this 'fight' to be as bogus as his excuses had sounded. The guy just wanted to get his hands on her, one way or another.

John shook his head. Oliver better bring it all onto the mat, because if she took this seriously—which he suspected she would, she had something to prove—and Oliver didn't...Well, he'd get his ass handed to him.

Looking at the situation from that particular point of view, John figured what happened next was something he wouldn't miss for anything in the world. He grinned, crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back against the wall, and got ready for the show.

"Rules first," Bachman said sternly. "This is a practice fight, so no dirty moves." He looked pointedly at Laurel, who presented a perfect picture of innocence as she gazed at Oliver. "No kicks to sensitive areas, no kicking at the joints, no twisting of fingers, no eye-gouging, and the neck, especially the throat, is off limits."

John clenched his teeth. Everything which was a no-no during this practice run was otherwise allowed. It had to be, when you found yourself in a fight for your life. From what he remembered Bachman telling him all those years ago, the throat was the easiest target and the easiest and quickest way to end the fight.

"Understood?" Bachman asked and both Oliver and Laurel nodded. "Good. Whenever you are ready."

He stepped off the mats and joined Sara on the other side of the gym, opposite to John and Felicity.

And...nothing happened. At least nothing violent. The two fighters merely started slowly circling each other, waiting for the other to go first, waiting for an opening, for that one moment of distraction.

Felicity huffed beside him. "Are they planning on starting this soon?" she whispered.

John noticed the almost imperceptible tensing of Oliver's thighs. He wouldn't have if he hadn't been paying attention. Or sparred with the guy regularly. "Here we go," he whispered back.

Oliver sprung forward and Laurel merely lifted her hands to chest level and sidestepped.

"Really?" she asked. "I thought you wanted to see what I was made of."

"I do," Oliver replied.

"It doesn't look like it. You want to fight or you want to dance, Queen?"

Oliver grinned and went on the offensive again. John frowned as Laurel easily sidestepped again. What was Oliver doing? This wasn't taking it easy, this was...He had no idea what this was, but it sure wasn't fighting. It wasn't even sparring. It looked like he truly wasn't taking any of this seriously, but John knew better. Oliver didn't want to hurt her. The suggestion of the match had been a spur of the moment and now, that he had to go through with it, Oliver simply didn't dare to give it all.

Laurel rolled her eyes and glared. "I'm not made of glass, Queen. I won't shatter, but I'm on my way to getting pissed off."

"I don't want to hurt you!" Oliver snapped.

Arms akimbo, her glare turned murderous. "Whatever assassin comes after me _will_ want to hurt me." She placed her hand on Oliver's chest and shoved. Hard. "Show respect for my abilities. Fight me!"

And he did. And while at the beginning the two seemed pretty evenly-matched, the scales quickly tipped in Laurel's favor. Oliver was taller, heavier and stronger, but his bulk, for lack of a better word, was also an impediment. He was quick, he was agile, but she was quicker. And while Oliver, John soon noticed—he saw much more as an observer than he did when he sparred with him—utilized pretty much the same moves all over again, Laurel's style was much more adaptable. Oliver had tells—no matter the different sequences of moves he used—she didn't. She changed motions and moves, she changed directions of her attack...No matter how hard he tried to anticipate what her next move would be, John found he couldn't.

He looked at Bachman. The Israeli didn't move his gaze off the two fighters, a small smile playing on his lips and his eyes filled with pride. Then he caught John's gaze and grinned.

There was a thump and a groan and John quickly looked back to the sparring couple to see Oliver sprawled on his back. Again. He's lost count of how many times that's happened. John shook his head. Oliver was finally fighting for real, it didn't look like he was holding back. Not anymore. Yet he hasn't, as of yet, been able to put Laurel onto her back. On the mats, that is.

"Satisfied?" she asked with a smirk as she stood over him.

"Hardly," Oliver growled and swung out with his leg, kicking her legs from under her. He was on top of her the moment she hit the mats.

Felicity huffed. "Even I could see that one coming."

John chuckled. So could Laurel. The fact she hasn't evaded the move told a lot.

"This is better," Oliver said with a smile as he leaned over her. He curled his fingers gently around her throat. "Does this mean I win?"

"Hardly," she echoed, lifted her lower body off the mat, brought her legs up underneath his arms, and crossed her ankles in front of Oliver's neck. Once more, it was him lying on the mats, but she still had her ankles crossed. "You're dead. Again. Are we done?"

"Yeah," Oliver whispered.

"Good." She unhooked her ankles, rolled onto her back, placed her palms on either side of her head, swung up, did a quick arm-stand, and dropped lightly back onto her feet. She leaned over and offered Oliver her hand to help him get back to his feet.

He accepted it, and John was half-expecting him to pull Laurel back down, but he didn't.

"Damn, Laurel," Olvier said, admiration in his voice. "You're amazing."

She blinked. "Thank you."

"And damn sexy."

She rolled her eyes. "So, are you satisfied that I can protect myself?"

Oliver's expression was grave. "Yes, against one. What if there are more?"

Before he could finish, six men, dressed from head to toe in black, rushed into the gym, and attacked Laurel.

"What the—" John was about to jump into the fray, when a strong tug on his arm stopped him.

"Relax," Bachman murmured. "It is all part of the exercise."

He wasn't sure he heard him right, when two more men descended from the trap-door in the center of the ceiling, also dressed in black.

"Are you nuts?" he hissed at Bachman. "Eight against one?" No matter how good she was, she was alone, a woman, and the men went at her en masse. She didn't have eyes on the back of her head, how did Bachman suppose she defend herself?

"Eight against two," Bachman corrected him and nodded to where Oliver reached Laurel, and placed himself so they were back to back. She seemed to sense it was him, because she didn't even turn, her attention focused on the four men coming at her.

Oliver and Laurel worked in perfect synchronization. Back to back, their movements sparse, yet efficient, and John could've sworn Oliver had picked up something during their earlier sparring, because he seemed to be adapting to the fight as well, echoing his attacker's moves, adapting his style, forgoing the routine, forgoing form, but going with pure instinct. Like her. They didn't think, they didn't analyze. They worked as if on auto-pilot, every move, every step, every kick, every jab made with one sole goal, one sole purpose. End the fight as soon as possible, protect your front and side, trust the person behind you to protect your back. Trust the person at your back with your life.

It didn't take long, maybe a couple of minutes, but Oliver and Laurel were the only ones left standing.

Bachman clapped as he reached them. "Good job."

Oliver grabbed the front of his shirt. "What the hell was that all about?!"

Bachman shrugged. "A test."

"A test?" Oliver looked ready to punch the man. John wanted heartily to recommend him not to do it.

"Yes, a test in compatibility. If you two are compatible in a fight, since you plan on helping Dinah fight the League."

"You could've warned us, Adam," Laurel said, a bite in her voice. She pried Oliver's fingers off Bachman's shirt. "You almost gave me a heart attack.""

"You should've seen you two fight together," Felicity cut in. "Like you've done it before."

John nodded. "As if you've always fought back to back. You can't learn to do that."

"No," Sara said. "It's instinct."

"Okay, glad we sorted it out," Laurel said quickly, forcibly turned Sara around, and started pushing her toward the exit. "I'm tired, let's have a sleepover at my place." She turned, waved enthusiastically. "See you tomorrow, guys."

John frowned after the Lance sisters. Was he hallucinating or had there been blood on Sara's upper lip?


	27. Chapter 27

_A/N: Happy New Year!_

* * *

"You guys were really amazing."

Laurel sighed. Sara obviously didn't want her older sister to fuss over her. And she obviously didn't want to talk about why her older sister might want to fuss over her. Laurel wasn't sure _she_ wanted to talk about it. She just knew she was scared. Because the threat was close, it was imminent. She might lose Sara any day now.

She'd seen the blood oozing from Sara's nose back at the gym and had done her best so the others hadn't. She'd dragged Sara to the changing room, and they'd tried to stop the bleeding, but to no avail. Which meant a quick and clandestine exit through the back door and a visit to the emergency room. There was nothing the doctors could do in terms of cure for Sara, but at least they'd been able to stop the nosebleed.

It took a long time to do that. Too long for Laurel's peace of mind.

And it had finally driven home the realization Sara's days were numbered. It's not like she hasn't thought about it before, she has, but this time it was right there, like a punch in the face. They had to go to the hospital, and the doctors hadn't been surprised at seeing Sara there, hadn't been surprised at the time it took them to stop the bleeding. Her sister was a regular.

Then the doctor, once aware of their relationship, had taken Laurel aside and told her the whole truth about Sara's condition. Thrown the doctor-patient confidentiality aside and told her what Sara hasn't. Laurel had almost tossed her cookies then and there. It was much worse than she'd imagined. So much worse, the doctor had actually begged her to reason with her sister and get her to agree to be hospitalized, to be put on adequate medication for the pain she was in. Which he'd claimed was excrutiating and patients usually took morphine to numb it.

Morphine!

Jesus. Sara's never mentioned any pain. She looked perfectly 'normal', perfectly healthy. But, judging from what the doctor had told her, Sara was lucky to still be functioning. _Jesus!_

She'd breached the subject as soon as they were in the car, but Sara simply said she and pain had come to an understanding a long time ago. Whatever that meant. And that was that. She'd adamantly refused to speak about what had happened, what would happen, how she was feeling, and Laurel had no idea how to get her to open up. Share at least a bit of the burden.

She could never share the brunt of it, no matter how much she wanted to. She couldn't share her sister's pain. Sara was dying. And there was nothing she, or anyone, could do about it. But that didn't mean she couldn't fuss, couldn't spoil her little sister just a tiny bit. If only Sara let her.

She didn't. She'd rather talk about her and Oliver and what they'd done at the gym. A topic Laurel wanted to avoid like the plague, so she merely shrugged. "A fluke. Want some tea?"

Sara scoffed and made herself more comfortable on the couch. "That was no fluke. That was instinct, pure and simple. Like you two were made to fight side by side."

Laurel rolled her eyes. "Fight side by side? Sheesh, Sara, just listen to yourself."

"I am. I'm thinking about it, too. And I can also see a picture of you two in my head. He in green, you in black, fighting crime side by side."

"That's it. I'm making you some chamomile tea. Are you sure you're not feverish?"

Sara laughed. "I'm just peachy, Laurel. I must say, your friend Adam's idea of improvising a fight was brilliant."

Laurel placed a mug of hot tea on the coffee table in front of Sara and sat on the opposite side of the couch, curling her feet underneath her. "It was an idiotic idea, and I don't want to talk about it anymore. Want to watch a movie?"

Sara shook her head. "Nope. I want to talk about it."

"I don't."

"Tough." Sara took a sip of her tea. "You could make such a great team, Laurel." She grinned. "You'll have to. He'll be there 24/7 to protect you now."

Laurel gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to hurl the mug against her wall. "That's the problem. I don't want him to protect me."

Sara sat a little straighter. "Want? You don't want his protection?"

"I meant I don't need his protection."

"You said _want_, Laurel. You admit you need protection?"

She huffed. "Of course I need protection. We're talking about the League of Assassins, here. I'm not so stupid to think I can take them all by myself."

"Oliver can protect you."

"I know he can, but I don't want him to." Laurel shot to her feet. She couldn't sit anymore. She didn't want to talk about it."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want him to."

"Don't you trust him?"

She lifted her hands in exasperation. What has she done to earn this third degree? Was it too late to throw Sara out? "Of course, I trust him."

"Then what's the problem? I don't understand."

Neither did she, she suspected. "The idiot just might die protecting me, that's the problem." At Sara's slow blink, she continued. "He's liable to jump in front of a bullet or a flying knife if he's too late to shoot one of his damn arrows."

Comprehension dawned onto Sara's face. "You don't want him to die for you or get hurt because of you."

Laurel just sighed, pacing across her living room.

Sara grinned. "You love him."

"Of course I love him," she snapped. "I've always loved him. Nothing could change that."

"Not even him lying to you about his secret identity?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know why he did it. It pissed me off at the beginning, but I get it."

Sara placed her mug back onto the coffee table, stood, and met her gaze across the room. "Then what the fuck is your problem?"

Laurel blinked at the vehemence in her sister's voice. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Sara frowned. "You tell me you love him, yet you insist on pushing him away. You love him, yet you don't want to be with him. What's that all about, Laurel?"

Laurel just stared at her, refusing to word her fears.

"He loves you."

"I know."

"He's changed. He would never cheat on you, Laurel."

"I know."

"Then what is it?"

"Sara..."

Sara took a step forward, her expression beseeching. "What is it, Laurel. Tell me. Let it out. Let whatever scares you out."

"I don't want to get hurt again. I don't want him to break my heart again."

"He won't."

She smiled, tears flooding her eyes. "Yes, he will. Sooner or later he will."

"Laurel..."

She shook her head. "Not by cheating, but by leaving."

"He'd never leave you, Laurel."

Tears were threatening to spill so she blinked them back. "He will. Sooner or later he will. One mistake, one distraction, and it's all over. It takes just a second. And he's gone."

"Dead," Sara whispered.

She nodded. "I lost him once. It hurt so much, some days I though I just might die too. But we were together then. Maybe, if I keep him away, if I protect my heart from him, this time it might not hurt so much."

"You're not making any sense."

"I know," she whimpered. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't realize how stupid I sound? It's just that..."

Muscular arms circled her from behind, pulled her back against a strong chest, as warm breath tickled her nape. "You're scared," he whispered and tears spilled down her cheeks. "I'm scared too. I'm scared of how much I love you. I'm scared of how much I need you in my life. I'm scared of losing you, too."

Through her tears, she saw Sara's brilliant smile and small wave as she closed the front door behind her, leaving them alone.

Oliver pulled her even closer, his arms hugging her even tighter. "But we can't let our fears define us, shape our lives." He pressed a kiss against the side of her throat. "I might leave you, but I'll never do it willingly, Laurel. Give me another chance. Please, give _us_ another chance. I'm miserable without you. I can't live without you."

If she'd learned anything today at the hospital, as the doctors helped Sara, as they'd told her she was lucky to still have her sister with her for however brief amount of time, it was that life was short. There were no guarantees that she would outlive her sister. As clichéd as it might sound, you really had to live your life as if every single day was your last. It just might be.

A tremulous gasp escaped as Laurel threw caution, logic, and self-preservation to the wind. It was her heart that was taking the shots, that would take them from that point forward when it came to Oliver Queen. It had always belonged to him anyway.

So instead of pushing him away and ordering him out of her house, out of her life, she did the only thing she could. She turned in his embrace, circled her arms around his neck, and sobbed against his throat. That would have to do for now.


	28. Chapter 28

He'd held her as she'd cried herself to sleep. He still held her, pressed tightly to his side, her head in the crook of his shoulder, listening to her even breathing, thanking the powers that be for this second chance he—they—have been given.

He could've slept, perfectly content with holding her close, having her beside him, but he couldn't. Not after what's happened, what he's heard tonight. Sara'd texted him a few hours after she and Laurel had left the gym, instructing him to get his tight, sexy butt—her words—to Laurel's apartment and wait outside for the right moment. He'd wondered what that sign might be, but he'd waited and then...He'd heard Laurel and her reason for not wanting to let him back into her heart, and his own heart broke.

If he were a better man, he'd have left then and there, left her alone, granted her wish...But he wasn't that man. He was selfish, an egotistical bastard, and he couldn't do it. He loved her, he _needed_ her, wanted her in his life, wanted to be a part of hers. He just couldn't walk away. So he'd entered her apartment Arrow-style, and taken her into his arms, begged her to give him, _them_, another chance, hoped against hope that she'd relent. He hadn't even noticed Sara leaving the apartment, leaving them alone. All he could see, hear, touch, breathe in, was Laurel as he'd waited with batted breath for her decision.

And when she'd turned, hugged him, cried against his chest, his heart had broken all over again. For her, for them, for what he was asking her to do, for what he was asking her to sacrifice. And he'd made a silent promise to her, to both of them. He'd sworn he'd never let her go again, that he'd protect her from anything or anyone who would want to cause her harm, want to hurt her. And he'd made a silent oath he'd try his best, do everything that was in his power, not to leave her ever again. He might not keep that promise, God only knew the world was a dangerous place, made even more dangerous by his choice of living a secret life as a vigilante, but he'd give it his best shot.

He wanted to live his life with her, alongside her, grow old with her, tell tales of the Arrow to their children and grandchildren.

She'd cried a long time, holding on for dear life, and he could do nothing but hold her as tightly as he could, murmuring soft nonsense in her ear, kissing her cheek, her forehead, her hair, until she'd calmed down, until her hold loosened a bit.

He'd been prepared for another argument then, but she'd surprised him and asked him to stay. She'd said she didn't want to be alone, not tonight. He'd wanted to ask what was wrong, knowing it wasn't all because of him, but refrained. He didn't want to upset her further, she'd been through enough. So he'd followed her to her bedroom, where she'd quickly changed in her bathroom, and invited him under the covers with her. Where she promptly snuggled against him, her hand on his chest, over his heart.

There wasn't anything sexual about her request for him to stay with her, and he'd had no intention of changing that. They both needed this moment, this night to be one of closeness, of reconnecting, of gentle touches, and whispered words. This was a special kind of intimacy they've been lacking since his return from the island, a special kind of intimacy they needed to regain, before anything else could and would happen between them.

They'd talked, just like old times, when they could spend hours just talking. For Oliver it was a special kind of blessing to be able to get that back. He'd told her about the island, even things he didn't share with anyone, not even Diggle and Felicity. He'd told her about how it felt to return to Starling City after all those years, his motivations for becoming the vigilante, his plans for Arrow's future, for the future of Queen Consolidated.

She'd told him about the five years he'd been gone, of her finishing school, deciding to help the less fortunate by working at CNRI, she'd told him about her training, about meeting Adam Bachman...About how she'd come to meet Adam Bachman and why.

Oliver's blood had run cold at hearing the truth. The truth she hadn't shared with anyone before. Something had broken inside her when she'd learned about his death, she'd said. Not his betrayal, his death! For a while, she'd gone on as if nothing had happened, until one day she'd snapped.

She'd gone to Star reservoir and drove her car into it. She'd wanted to die the way he had. She wanted to drown. But someone had pulled her out in the nick of time. An early-morning jogger had noticed the car plunge into the water from the other side of the lake, but before he'd reached the other shore and jumped in, Laurel had already lost consciousness. She'd already been dead. The jogger had brought her back from the dead.

Adam Bachman had saved her that day, and slowly brought her back to life in the following months. He'd talk to her, train her, teach her. He'd become her friend and mentor, a father figure when her biological father descended into his own private hell.

The next time they met, Oliver would shake the man's hand and thank him for keeping Laurel alive. For keeping her safe. He'd forever be indebted to him.

He looked down at her as she mumbled something in her sleep, her forehead creasing as if she were troubled. He knew she hadn't told him everything, that there was something else she was keeping from him, but there would be time to talk later. They had all the time in the world. Or so he hoped.

She snuggled even closer, and he sighed as he leaned his head on top of hers. _This_ was home. _This_ was where he belonged.

He closed his eyes. After more than six years, he was finally fully at peace.


	29. Chapter 29

I'LL BE LATE TONIGHT. DON'T WAIT UP.

Laurel smiled as she read Oliver's text. It meant he would be doing some Arrow business later, but they've settled on describing it as him being late. It sounded more like running late due to a business meeting instead of running late because of dealing with thugs or criminals.

She felt her smile turn into a grin. She just couldn't help it. She was happy. Happier than she remembered ever being. She loved and was loved in return. She was loved the way she always wanted to be. Unconditionally, completely. The way she loved him.

These past days were, for lack of a better word, perfect. Nevertheless, she knew they were more an exception to a rule, an anomaly, really. She didn't kid herself their life together would always be like this. They were both too stubborn, too strong-willed, too independent for them never to fight, never to argue. But until then she would revel in the perfectness of their renewed relationship. They were still getting their bearings, feeling their way, rediscovering one another and themselves in the process.

They weren't the same people as before. They weren't teenagers anymore, they were adults. And it showed in their relationship that was growing stronger every day. The experiences they've lived through have shaped them, changed them, matured them, made them more aware of what and who was truly important. They spent every moment they could together. When she didn't have to work late, or he didn't have to 'work' late, they'd go out to dinner or eat it in front of the TV curled on the couch in each other's arms. They had impromptu lunch dates, met for coffee, went to the movies...

And they trained together. Although she couldn't do the crazy pull up thing—the salmon ladder, he called it—and she had no intention of even trying, she could admire him do it. They sparred, they jogged together, they went to the gym together, worked out on Adam's obstacle course—he and Adam had become as thick as thieves—and he's started teaching her archery. She'd take her gun over a bow any day, but it was fun and strangely relaxing.

They also had fun with the Arrow gang. She'd gotten to know Felicity and Diggle a whole lot better, and they were a real hoot to be with. And Sara, Felicity and she had finally had that date a-la _Sex and the City_ and did the whole karaoke thing. Laurel smiled again remembering how the three of them had gotten tipsy on Cosmos that evening. So tipsy, in fact, they had to call Oliver to come and pick them up. He hadn't been particularly happy with the car-pool service, but she'd made it up to him later.

She blushed as she thought about that particular aspect of their relationship. Sex has changed, too. Or rather, lovemaking. They always made love. Either slow, long, and tender or fast, hard, and frenzied, it didn't feel like sex. They made love. Oh, boy, how they did. Oliver has obviously picked up a trick or two during his stint on the island—she didn't contemplate on the hows and whys—but he hasn't lost his magic touch, thank God. The ability of making everything seem intimate. A single touch, a deep look, a brush of his breath against her skin...

She sighed. She couldn't wait to see him. Because she would simply ignore the second part of his message. Of course, she'd wait up, fretting, wide awake until he returned home.

Home.

He's been calling her apartment _home_ ever since that evening when he'd snuck up behind her as she'd confessed her fears to Sara. Ever since he'd convinced her to give them a second chance. He's practically moved in the next afternoon. And she was more than happy to let go of a few drawers and half of her closet.

They didn't talk about the future, about what would happen next. They didn't talk about their living arrangement, they didn't make plans. They didn't know whether they'd get to fulfill those plans, get to decide whether to live in her apartment or move into the Queen mansion. Although Adam hasn't been able to learn anything more, although there were no rumors about the League of Assassins being in the city, that didn't mean the threat was gone. The threat was still there, an entity in their relationship, hanging over them like a shroud.

She shook her head. She refused to think about it, dwell on it. What needed to happen would happen, fretting about it would just make it worse. She's decided to live in the moment and she would. By God, she would. Starting with booting down her computer and heading home.

She glanced at the wall clock and frowned. She hasn't realized it was already this late. She should hurry if she wanted to make it home before dusk. If Oliver learned about her walking home alone after dark, he'd have a cow. If her father found out, he'd have a cow, although he didn't know about the death threat—at least she hoped he didn't. If Adam found out, he'd have a cow as well. And as much as she loved all three of them, them filling a barn because of her, wasn't a prospect she was looking forward to. She might as well get a cab, which would give her plenty of time to pick up dinner as well.

Her mind made up, she waved to a member of the cleaning crew, and went in search of a taxi.

.

.

Oliver unlocked the door to Laurel's apartment. It was great to have a key, to have a place to return to at night and have someone wait for you. Although he hoped she didn't wait for him tonight, he was later than usual. A few days ago, John had stumbled upon a lead about a new arms dealer trying to take over Starling City's recently-vacated 'market'. The investigation had come to fruition tonight as he, John and Sara had taken down the budding business and the would-be big fish. They'd handed him and the evidence over to Lance and his new partner and Oliver had finally been free to get home. To Laurel.

Home.

He didn't really care where he lived, her apartment, the mansion, a shack in the countryside...He couldn't care less as long as she was with him. She was his home. _Laurel_ was his home.

And she was probably waiting for him, sitting cross-legged on her bed, staring at the door. He'd walk into the bedroom, and she'd jump off the bed and into his arms. He loved it when she did that. She'd demand he tell her everything that's happened, then she'd ask him if he was hungry—thank God for takeout, although he had to admit that lately, whenever she cooked the food actually tasted like food—and then they'd make love and fall asleep in a tangle of arms and legs. He loved waking up with her draped all over him.

He closed and locked the door behind him, frowned at the darkness in the apartment. She must have fallen asleep after all. He smiled as he contemplated whether to wake her up or simply snuggle beside her. He might just let her sleep. She needed it having waited up for him every single night he'd gone out on a mission as Arrow.

In the dark, so as not to wake her, he silently crept to the bedroom and frowned at the empty bed illuminated by the soft glow of the waning moon. He turned on the light. The bed was untouched. Where was she?

He would've taken it for a simple warning, like the last time, if it wasn't for the golden necklace hanging from the hilt. A golden necklace with an arrow pendant that he'd given to Laurel a few days ago.


	30. Chapter 30

Laurel woke up with a pounding headache. Stars swam in front of her eyes as she pried her eyelids open. It took some effort. It felt like they were glued shut. She tried moving her head, but quickly changed her mind as a blinding pain shot through her brain and down her spine.

What was wrong with her?

And where was she? The surface beneath her was hard and cold. Did she pass out on the street? Probably not, someone would've found her. Wouldn't they? Did she fall off her bed? Oliver would've picked her up. Maybe he wasn't home yet. Or maybe he couldn't come home.

The thought of the reasons why Oliver couldn't make it home, overcame the pain, and she finally opened her eyes. She frowned. She definitely wasn't home. The ceiling, wherever she was, was rather high, but there was something metallic between her and the ceiling. So where was she? She distinctly remembered getting home from the office. She'd made it safely up the stairs and into her foyer...

Blank.

She didn't remember anything else. Where was she and how long has she been wherever she was? And what the hell happened?

_Think, Laurel. You made it home last night. If it was even last night. You made it home. You got into the apartment. Then what? Think, damn it._

She frowned and closed her eyes as pain zinged through her brain. She'd unlocked her door, stepped in, closed the door behind her...Then what? The pain was diminishing. She'd locked the door and then felt something. Behind her. She'd turned, but only got a glimpse of black-clad figure before everything had gotten blank. She didn't remember feeling pain, they must've used some sort of drug.

The sort of drug wasn't important at the moment. Getting up, getting her bearings, and getting the hell out of dodge took precedence on anything. She knew very well who's taken her, and it didn't take a genius to realize why she was still alive. The League hoped to get two birds with one stone—kill Laurel Lance and bag her sister in the process. She'd be damned if she let them.

Fighting nausea she turned her head and noticed the metal thing wasn't just above her, but on her left as well. And her right. She was in a cage! No wonder she wasn't bound. The pain and lethargy in her limbs coupled with the cage put to rest any immediate escape plans.

"Shit," she hissed as she finally succeeded in turning onto her side and then onto her stomach. "Oh, shit." She curled her knees under her, and slowly lifted herself on her forearms.

She was hot and sweaty as she finally sat on her heels, her hands on her thighs. She gulped down the bile that threatened to rise. The pounding in her head also hasn't abated. It was stronger, even. One slow look around confirmed the fact she was indeed in a cage. And the entrance to it looked to be from above. Good luck in getting out without help. She could try climbing, but she knew she'd never make it. Not anytime soon. Not until she was back to normal.

Now what?

She had no other option but to wait. Wait for help to arrive or wait to get killed. Either way, she was stuck in this damn cage like an animal.

.

.

Oliver cursed and slammed his phone down on the metal table. Where the hell was Sara?! She's picked a fucking great time to be unreachable. He turned when he heard Diggle enter the Arrowcave. "Anything?"

Diggle shook his head. "She's not home and her mother doesn't know where she is. I didn't want to push, she might've spooked."

Oliver ran his hand down his face. The only person who could actually help him find the League of Assassins has been MIA for hours. Bachman and his obscure contacts were working double time, but he doubted they'd be successful. Felicity also wasn't having any luck with finding the League. At this point, he knew Sara was the only one who could find them. Where the hell was she?!

"Oliver," Diggle intruded. "I don't want to be the harbinger of bad news, but it might already be too late."

He felt Felicity's gaze and knew that if he looked at her, her eyes would convey the same message as Diggle's. Laurel was probably already dead. They've been hired to kill her, not kidnap her. But there was still hope. There was no body. The League has taken her to God knew where, leaving her necklace behind as a calling card. There was no body. Not yet. So there was still hope. There was still time. That was his lifeline at the moment, the only thing he could think about. She was still alive. She was safe, somewhere, for the time being.

It was that thought that kept him going, really. He was going on 24 hours without sleep, running on fumes, but he didn't care. Laurel was all that was important right now. He's developed tunnel vision in the past few hours. His only focus was Laurel. His only goal was finding her, saving her, getting her back.

Getting her back. He almost laughed at the irony. Getting her back has been his main goal for the past two years. Some might've called him pathetic, bordering on obsession, when he's been wooing her, trying anything and everything to get back into her orbit, into her life, before. Even Diggle and Felicity had looked at him with pity when he'd sent her bouquet after bouquet, dedicated songs, sent gifts, and texts and e-mails. The only one who didn't look at him with pity and condescension had been Sara. She'd been the only one to understand.

It hadn't been just love that drove him to Laurel, it had also been self-preservation. She's been a constant in his life for more than half of it. She—her picture—had been the only constant on that island. He needed her. But it was deeper than that. She kept the demons at bay. He's been suffering from PTSD since the island—he didn't need the shrink he's been seeing to confirm that diagnosis, he knew it—and the only time he wasn't feeling like going over the edge, the only time his burden seemed lighter, was when she was close. Even looking at her across the room eased the pressure, the constant pain. He loved her, more than anything else in the world, she was his salvation. In more ways than one. The night he'd gone to her apartment, before Tommy died, had been the first in a year that he'd slept without nightmares, without waking in a cold sweat, a cry for help lodged in his throat. He'd had to leave her that night, and the nightmares returned full force. The pain returned.

And he'd realized _she_ was the key. The key to everything. His heart. His sanity. His life.

There have been no nightmares since she's taken him back. There have been no constant clawing in his brain, no voices screaming at him, reproaching him. He's found peace with her, has found normality. He refused to go back to the limbo. No matter how pathetic it sounded, he didn't want to live without her. He couldn't live without her. And the only way to retain whatever shred of sanity he still possessed was to think positive, believe she was still alive. That he would find her and save her. That's what kept him going.

"She's still alive," he said forcefully. "Don't look at me like that," he reprimanded both of them. "She has to be."

He grabbed his phone to call Sara again, when she sauntered through the door like she had no care in the world. The expression on her face, in her eyes, told otherwise.

"I know where they are," she said and Oliver could finally breathe again.

"Where were you?!" he demanded.

Her eyes were guarded as she replied, "It doesn't matter now. We have to get Laurel."

"You think she's alive?" Felicity asked softly.

Sara nodded. "Yes. For now. She's bait."

"They want you as well."

"Two birds with one stone." Her eyes were hard. "But I'm not going back," she said with determination.

Oliver put his hands on her shoulders. "You won't. Laurel would kill me if I let them take you."

Her smile was sad as she nodded. "Let's go get her."


	31. Chapter 31

Laurel's head was swimming and didn't seem inclined to stop anytime soon. How was it possible that whatever drug they used on her was still in her system? And going strong. Everything around her seemed wobbly, her stomach kept rolling, threatening to spill its nonexistent contents, and she just couldn't muster enough strength to stand. She'd crawled all the way to the iron bars of the cage—it sure had seemed a long way. It had taken her almost as much time to get back in a sitting-on-her-heels position. And that was it. She managed to stay upright only by leaning her upper body against the bars. She had no strength left, her stomach was rebelling, her head was protesting, and her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Because that sure wasn't a woman standing on the other side of the cage, head cocked, watching her like a scientist studying a strange specimen. A slender, beautiful, exotic-looking woman with long, dark hair and slightly almond-shaped brown eyes.

"You have the same eyes as your sister."

Either she was hearing things as well or the woman was real.

"Sara was my father's protégée," the woman explained. "You can imagine his disappointment when she failed to return."

Oh, her heart was bleeding for whomever this woman's father was.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this."

Laurel could just bet the woman was sorry.

"I apologize for the cage, but we cannot take the risk of you escaping."

"Just kill me already," she whispered.

The woman's eyes widened. "We have no intention of killing you. You'll better serve this city alive."

"The contract."

The woman flashed a chilling smile. "Is void."

_Sometimes the League of Assassins has their own agenda_, she remembered Adam Bachman explain. Could it really be that easy?

"Adam Donner is no longer in the picture," the woman continued. "He was ruining what progress this city has made since Oliver Queen's return."

Of course, they knew everything. And Donner was dead. Laurel tried to muster a modicum of pity for the guy, but couldn't.

"Now all we have to do is wait for your sister."

Sara. God, Sara. Things couldn't end like this. "She won't come."

"She will to save her sister."

Damn it. Laurel might be safe from the League, but Sara wasn't. They were using her as bait and there was nothing she could do about it.

.

.

"Step away from the cage," Oliver growled at the woman, arrow cocked.

She smiled. "You're late. I was expecting you much sooner." She looked at Sara. "What kept you?"

"You heard him, Nyssa," Sara replied. "Step away from the cage."

Nyssa shrugged and walked away from the bars. "By all means."

Oliver rushed forward. "Laurel, are you okay?"

He reached between the bars and touched her cheek. She looked at him with eyes swimming with tears, gratitude and love, and smiled wanly. God, she was alive.

"Hang on, I'll get you out of here."

"You'll have to climb," Nyssa interjected. "The entrance is on top."

He glared at her, but didn't dally. He was inside the cage and beside Laurel in a heartbeat. He took her in his arms and closed his eyes briefly at how good it felt to hold her close again, hear her breathe.

"Are you hurt?" he murmured and lifted her a little, pleased when she didn't collapse back onto her knees. It meant she wasn't as weak as she looked. "Are you okay?"

"I will be as soon as we get out of here," she replied.

He kissed her forehead. "Hold on, baby." He lifted her into his arms and grinned when she lifted her arms to his shoulders. She was going to be okay. Once back on the other side of the bars, he dropped her legs lightly onto the floor, keeping an arm securely around her back. She wobbled a little and leaned against him, but she didn't collapse.

"You're free to go," Nyssa said. "As for you, Sara, it's time to come home."

"I am home."

The smile was gone. "Father's been patient, he's let you fly free, but his patience has run out. I have orders to bring you back."

Oliver has had enough. "You're not taking her anywhere."

"Mr. Queen," Nyssa said pleasantly. "As much as I appreciate your loyalty toward a friend, there is nothing you can do or say in this matter. Leave now."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said forcefully and pulled Laurel closer. He was judging the distance between them and Sara, calculating how much time they might have to get out of dodge.

"This isn't about you. Or Laurel who you're protecting so fiercely," Nyssa replied. "No harm will come to her, to either of you. You have my word. You have my father's word. The League of Assassins won't touch you, unless you stand in our way."

He cursed softly.

"Get out of here, Ollie," Sara said calmly. "This is my fight. I'll be okay."

Laurel reached her arm toward her sister, curled her fingers around Sara's, her eyes swimming with tears, and he silently promised he'd return as soon as she was safe and get her sister back for her.

Sara nodded, smiled, and pulled away. "Go," she whispered.

He lifted his bow, shot a line-arrow, and, tucking Laurel safely to his side, proceeded in getting her out of harm's way. As they rose toward the ceiling, he saw a circle of black-clad figures surround Sara.

.

.

Oliver, Laurel tucked snuggly in his arms, landed softly on a nearby roof where the sounds of the fight could no longer be heard. He sat her down gently and softly kissed her forehead, determined to return and help Sara fend off the League. They've known she wouldn't come docilely and had planned accordingly, if the men surrounding her earlier were any indication. She was good, but she wasn't that good. He was more than happy to help her even the odds. He had a beef with those bastards for taking Laurel.

Laurel clamped her hand firmly around his wrist. "I'm coming with you."

She couldn't. She had to remain here where she was safe, while he went back and helped Sara. "I have to go help Sara, and you're staying here."

"I'm going with you," she repeated forcefully. She was pale, her eyes wide and strangely empty, the skin around her lips tight.

"I can't help her, if you're there."

She stood, and walked slowly, her gait far from steady, to the fire escape leading from the roof. Unless he restrained her, which he had no intention of doing, there was no stopping her. He understood, he really did. It was her sister down there. She wanted to help. He'll just have to hope she wasn't too stubborn to refuse to stay out of the way if he asked. So he followed her, lifted her in his arms, and, surprised she didn't protest or try to wriggle away, returned the way they came.

When he lowered them both down their escape line, the warehouse was deserted. The fighters must have taken the battle outside. Before he could take a good look around, Laurel released a distressed moan, tore herself out of his arms, and ran toward the open iron doors. His heart stopped as he saw her fall to her knees beside a prone body in black leather. He rushed after her and reached her just in time to see her remove the blond wig from her sister's head.

A gloved hand lifted and leather-clad fingers clamped around Laurel's. Oliver felt tears sting his eyes as he saw the pool of blood underneath Sara's body.

Sara removed her mask and pressed it into Laurel's hand. "Remember your promise."

"I remember," Laurel said softly, brushing her fingers through Sara's hair. "I won't let you down."

"Tell mom and dad I'm sorry."

"I will. Don't talk, Sara. Relax, it'll be over soon."

Jesus. Oliver didn't know what to do, what to say. He felt as if he was intruding. And he felt guilty. He should've left Laurel up on the roof and gone to help Sara. Now she was dead because he didn't. He's let them both down. Will Laurel ever forgive him? Will he be able to forgive himself?

"I love you, Laurel."

"I love you, too, Sara."

A rattling breath. "It doesn't hurt. I thought it would hurt."

Laurel brushed her fingers one more time through Sara's hair as her sister closed her eyes and breathed out one last time. "Goodbye, pretty bird," she whispered.

She slowly stood up and looked down at Sara's body, the black mask clutched in her fingers and Oliver was finally able to move. He walked to her and hesitantly put his hands onto her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said shakily. "I'm sorry I didn't save her."

"There was nothing you could have done."

"I could've saved her."

She shook her head. "No, you couldn't have, Oliver."

Dread settled in his stomach. "What are you talking about?"

"There is only one way you can leave the League," she said evenly.

He was starting to hate that detached tone. "Laurel."

"This was her plan all along."

He felt a chill rush down his spine. What was she saying?

"Suicide by the League. It beats the alternative."

He turned her toward him, but she refused to look at him. "What alternative?"

"She was dying."

"What?"

"No one could've saved her. The doctors said she only had a few months left. She wanted to make the best of them."

_Jesus._ "Laurel, look at me." He shook her. Hard. Anything to get her out of the fugue state she appeared to be in.

"The cancer had spread everywhere," she said dispassionately, staring at a spot above his shoulder. "She was in constant pain. She didn't say anything, but I knew. It was either a slow death, to wither away in a hospital bed, or this. She'd made her choice a long time ago."

It finally made sense. Sara's insistence on making amends, on being forgiven. The sadness and resignation he'd sometimes glimpsed in her eyes. Her frequent absences lately, the pleading out of joint patrols...Oh, God.

"How long have you known?"

Laurel finally looked at him. "Since she's come back."

Her eyes were defiant as if she was waiting, expecting him to push her away. He didn't. He couldn't. She'd known for months that her sister was dying, that they only had a few short months to spend together. She'd kept Sara's secret no matter how hard it's probably been to keep quiet. She'd carried this burden for so long, knowing how things would end—she'd known what would happen when she'd been taken by the League—and she didn't break. She'd gone through, been through a lot in the past months, yet she'd been strong for her sister. She's always been there for anyone who needed her, while never having anyone being there for her, being her rock.

And she'll once more have to be there for her parents. She'll once more have to be their rock, but this time she'll have someone as her own rock. Him. This time and every single time she'll need him, he'll be there for her.

He pulled her to him, hugged her close and tight. "She was blessed to have you as sister," he whispered into her hair.

She stood stiffly for a second, then circled his waist with her arms, and held on as she cried against his chest.

Thunder crashed above them, and he looked up when the sky opened up as it was also mourning the passing of the wonderful, stubborn, brave woman that Sara Lance had been. As rain mixed with his tears, Oliver pulled Laurel even closer, and sent up a silent thank you and a vow to always cherish and protect the woman in his arms.


End file.
